


Captivated

by ArtisticRae



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Amortentia, Angst, Diary Tom, Dubious Consent, Grey Harry, Healers, Horcruxes, Human Voldemort, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Mpreg, Parselmagic, Parseltongue, Past Child Abuse, Sane Voldemort, Smart Harry, Stockholm Syndrome, Tomarry Big Bang 2017, Underage Sex, Voldemort is 16 kinda sorta not really, harry is 15, love potion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-12-30 21:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12117954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtisticRae/pseuds/ArtisticRae
Summary: After his graveyard resurrection Lord Voldemort comes to a shocking revelation, Harry Potter is his horcrux. A quick legilimency attack on Harry convinces Voldemort of three things, firstly that Dumbledore knows about his horcruxes, secondly that he needs to reabsorb the errant piece of his soul that was released from the destroyed diary, and thirdly that Harry Potter can not be allowed to fall back into the hands of his enemies. And so Harry’s year as the captive of Lord Voldemort begins.OrWhen a recently restored teenage Dark Lord determined to gain the loyalty of a former foe resorts to using love potions with unexpected results.





	1. A Graveyard Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This world and its characters are intellectual property of J.K.Rowling.

Chapter 1: A Graveyard Reunion

“Robe me,” he commanded, and Wormtail, sobbing and moaning and still cradling his mutilated arm, scrambled to pick up the black robes from the ground, got to his feet, and pulled the robes one-handed over his master’s head before collapsing once more onto the dirt.

Lord Voldemort emerged triumphant from the cauldron eyes never leaving his fated nemesis who struggled futilely against the ropes that bound him to the gravestone.

He took not the slightest notice of Wormtail, who lay twitching and bleeding on the ground, nor of Nagini who circled the grave site impatiently.

Lord Voldemort looked away from Harry to explore his new body. His fingers were longer than they had once been, more skeletal, and his skin was unnaturally pale. A cursory examination of his face alerted him to the flattening of his nose and the slit nostrils that remained. He made a moue of distaste as he suppressed his regret for the loss of his true form. This, after all, was better than being a formless vapor. He would make content with this and strike terror into all who saw him henceforth.

His eyes flicked back to Harry, who was watching his movements in muted horror. A cruel smile twisted his snake like face as he addressed his captive foe at last.

“You stand upon the remains of my late father, a muggle and a fool, much like your mother. But they both had their uses did they not? As you have seen tonight my father’s bones have been instrumental in my resurrection, an unknowing gift on his part but a great one. Your mother on the other hand gave her very life for you. She died to protect you. Old magic that I was foolish to ignore at the time. Her sacrifice gave you a protection that not even the killing curse could breach. Unfortunately for you my father’s parting gift will prove to be of more lasting usefulness. You see with your blood flowing in my veins your mother’s protection is nil. I can touch you now.”

Voldemort accented this last statement by running his finger mockingly along Harry’s cheek. Harry squirmed beneath his touch, but there was no pain. Voldemort smirked at his own genius.

“May I eat him now Master?” Nagini hissed.

Voldemort smirked and turned to reply to his familiar when the boy hissed back.

 **“** I’d give you indigestion.” 

Voldemort’s eyes shot back to Harry.

“How?”

The boy had the temerity to raise his eyebrow at him. He huffed angrily but elaborated.

“How is it possible that you speak parseltongue. I would have known if the Potter’s were descended from Slytherin and you obviously can’t have gotten the skill from your mudblood mother.”

“You.” The boy dared to look bemused in the face of Voldemort’s rage. “I got the gift from you. You gave me some of your powers the night you failed to kill me. Dumbledore told me himself.”

“Show me.” Voldemort commanded. Before the boy could even ask what he meant Voldemort had already cast, “Legilimens!” and delved into the boy’s mind.

The mind was a disorganized mess. Clearly the boy hadn’t had even the barest beginning of any training in the mind arts and as such he wasn’t able to put up even a weak defense against the Dark Lord’s intrusion. He sifted through the boy’s memories until he found the one the boy had likely been referencing.

_The boy was younger. He looked about 12 and he was covered in blood and filth and was standing in one of the Professor offices at Hogwarts._

_“Professor Dumbledore...Riddle said I’m like him. Strange likenesses he said…”_

_“Did he now? And what do you think Harry?”_

_“I don’t think I’m like him! I mean I’m a Gryffindor…” The boy stopped for a moment and seemed to gather his resolve. “Professor, the sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. Everyone has believed that I was Slytherin’s heir… because I can speak parseltongue.”_

_“You can speak parseltongue because Lord Voldemort, who is the last remaining ancestor of Salazar Slytherin, can speak parseltongue. Unless I am much mistaken, he transferred some of his own powers to you the night he gave you that scar. Not something he intended to do I’m sure…”_

_“Voldemort put a bit of himself in me?_

_“It certainly seems so.” Dumbledore finished gravely._

Voldemort froze in momentary horror. Could Harry Potter truly hold a piece of his soul? Did Dumbledore understand the significance of this. Did he know about the horcruxes? Voldemort frantically searched the boy’s mind for other relevant memories.

He watched the boy’s interactions with his diary self, the slaying of the basilisk, the stabbing of the diary with a basilisk fang, the delivery of the destroyed diary to Dumbledore. Dumbledore’s complete lack of bafflement.

'The old man knew. He knew what the diary was. He knows what the boy is.' Voldemort’s mind was racing with new possibilities, new contingencies. New problems.

‘The boy can never die. My soul must be safeguarded. My diary fragment must be recalled.’ These three things he had resolved before he even left the confines of the boys mind.

He emerged from the boy’s mind to find Wormtail pale and bleeding out on the ground.

“Master please, you promised.” The rat moaned pitifully.

Voldemort glanced at him disdainfully. The rat knew too much, had seen him in an unguarded moment. It wouldn’t do. Voldemort brandished his wand and with a quick avada kedevra  Wormtail collided with the ground, face frozen in shock.

The boy was still cringing from the pain of the assault on his mind.

“Are you going to kill me now?” The boy asked through gritted teeth.

Voldemort walked closer to the boy and brushed the sweaty fringe off his face, his thumb brushing purposefully across his curse scar, and replied.

“Death will never touch you, my precious Horcrux.”

The boy’s eyes widened in surprise or alarm, but before he could ask anymore questions Voldemort had already stuck him with a non-verbal somnus. Harry sagged unconscious against his bindings.

He sliced the boys bindings causing him to fall unceremoniously onto the ground. Voldemort wandlessly levitated him to chest height and grabbed him in a princess hold.

“Come Nagini, we have much to do before today ends.” He hissed to his familiar who obediently slithered around his right leg.

With one last glance at his father’s desecrated grave Voldemort turned heel and with a CRACK they were gone.


	2. Healer Yaxley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry awakes in a strange place.

**Chapter 2: Healer Yaxley**

When Harry awoke his surroundings were blurry and his mind was foggy with sleep. A quick fumble at his face revealed that he had somehow managed to lose his glasses. His mind scrambled to piece together what had happened. From what little he could make out of his surroundings Harry determined that he was on a bed and the room he was in had stone walls. Barring a few shelves with books the room was bare of any ornamentation. He recognized nothing.

He was still lethargic and confused trying to figure out how he had gotten here when he heard footsteps. Before he could take a moment to even fear for his predicament a stranger walked into the room. He was tall and sturdily built with dirty blond hair and slate grey eyes. Harry didn’t recognize him.

“I’m so glad that you have awakened Mr. Potter. I was beginning to worry that I would have to use an ennerverate on you which, considering you currently have untreated wounds and some unidentified venom running through your body, would not been at all advisable. Forcibly waking you could have caused the poison to spread faster. I have kept your legs immobile to hinder the spread, but that will only work as a temporary measure. Prompt treatment is essential in cases such as these. Can you tell me what you were bitten by?”

Harry was momentarily overwhelmed by this inundation of information. He was still confused about where he was and he felt fairly certain that his last memories were of Voldemort kidnapping him?

“Where am I?” He asked. The man clucked his tongue and glanced at him with mild disapproval.

“Mr. Potter, while I have no doubt that you are full of curiosity about where you are and how you came to be in my care, but now is hardly the time for idle conversation. Your injuries are at least two hours old as is and you put yourself at risk of fatal poisoning if you delay your treatment any further. Did you recognize the creature that attacked you?”

Recognizing the sense in having his acromantula bite treated Harry conceded to the Healer’s demands.

“In the maze I was bitten by an adult acromantula. Or really my leg was grazed by the fangs of an acromantula when it’s body fell on me.” Harry revised sheepishly.

The healer raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “Fortunately, I have acromantula antivenin on hand. It’s beastly time consuming to brew and I wouldn’t like your chances for full recovery if I’d had to make it from scratch. You are very lucky Mr. Potter.”

Harry huffed. He didn’t feel lucky. The Healer wandered out of sight and Harry heard the sounds of clinking bottles. The man return holding a vial of clear golden fluid.

“It would be best if I treat the poisoning first any other injuries your are suffering are non-fatal and can be dealt with after the risk of acromantula poisoning has subsided. Now sit up if you can you are going to need to drink all of this.”

Harry shuffled backwards on the bed as he tried to rise up into a seated position and had to bite back a groan of pain as his ankle, which he was now suspecting he may have broken, was jostled by the motion.

‘Easy there, let me help you.” The Healer said as he took Harry’s arm and helped ease him into a seated position.

“My ankle..” Harry began, but was silenced by a sympathetic look from the Healer.

“In due time. Sadly anti-venom can not be taken with skele-gro potion. I will had to wait until the poison is purged from your system.

“How long will that take?” Harry grumbled with uncharacteristic petulance.

The Healer smiled kindly. “Less than an hour I hope. In the meantime I can begin treating some of your lesser injuries.”

The Healer waved his wand over his body and Harry watched in amazement as all the dirt, grime, and dried blood evaporated off his skin and clothing.

“We don’t want to risk infection.” The man offered by way of explanation. Harry just nodded and watched in interest at the litany of healing spells that were silently cast on his body diligently closing up and healing every gash, scratch, or bruise he had accumulated during his time in the maze and the graveyard. It made Harry realize that he had taken Madam Pomfrey from granted as most of the healing she had done to him over the years had been while he was unconscious and as such he had never really appreciated the brilliance of healing magic before. Which made Harry wonder,

“Why didn’t you just heal me while I was still asleep?”

“You haven’t been here very long, Mr. Potter. I arrived only a few minutes before you awoke. I cast a diagnostic scan on you and determined that poisonous venom was your only immediate threat and began the process of setting up a cauldron with the ingredients needed for the base of most antivenoms. Fortunately this precaution proved unnecessary as I happened to have the correct anti-venom in stock, but if I hadn’t every second would have counted and those precious minutes saved by preplanning could have been the difference between life and death for you.”

“Oh.” Was all Harry could say to that speech.

“The purging process is known to be rather unpleasant and the skele-gro I will be administering afterwards even more so. I would recommend that you take a dose of dreamless sleep potion and let your body heal.” The healer held out another potions vial that Harry recognized as dreamless sleep from his time in the infirmary.

“Wait! I still have questions.”

The Healer sighed as though he had been hoping to avoid this. “No doubt, Mr. Potter. You have been through a challenging ordeal and have suffered greatly. But I am not the one to give you answers. All I can say is that you are safe here and I promise by my oath as a healer that I will provide you the best of care. I’m certain that all of your curiosities will be addressed when you next wake.”

Harry huffed in frustration, but knew a lost cause when he saw one.

“Can I at least know your name?”

“Healer Edwin Yaxley.”

Harry nodded in thanks that at least one of his questions was answered though the name rang no bells he felt somewhat reassured that he at least didn’t recognize it as being a death eater name either. Choosing to trust that this healer wasn’t likely to kill him in his sleep, after all he had already had the chance to do so before, Harry pulled out the potions stopper and drank down the dreamless sleep draught.

He was grateful that at least he wouldn’t have to worry about nightmares. After everything that happened in the graveyard he was sure he would have had them. He had settled down and closed his eyes and was waiting for the gentle embrace of sleep when he heard the door creak open again. He assumed Healer Yaxley was just leaving until he heard a second voice in the room.

“How is the boy?”

Harry’s blood froze in his veins. He fought to open his eyes to confirm what he feared, but his lids were too heavy. As the dreamless sleep draught dragged him into unconsciousness once more Harry’s last thought was a silent scream of “VOLDEMORT!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I am participating in Nanowrimo this year your can expect frequent updates to this story as I have made Captivated my project for this year. I have already written chapter 3 which will be posted in a few days. I'm hoping to keep a pace of posting two chapters a week but I don't want to spend too much of my time editing chapters since the point of nanowrimo is to write. Enjoy.


	3. Restoring Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort reabsorbs the diary horcrux fragment with unintended side effects.

**Chapter 3: Restoring Riddle**

After ascertaining that the safe house was still structurally secure after thirteen years of neglect Voldemort was anxious to check the status of his horcrux’s health. He trusted Yaxley, as much as he trusted any of his followers, but in a matter of this importance there could be no toleration of failure.

Voldemort sighed. He could already tell that preserving Harry was going to be a gigantic headache and would add a mountain of trouble onto his already daunting list of things to do. He momentarily contemplated the merits of just permanently keeping Harry dosed with the Draught of Living Death just to spare himself, but he knew that ultimately it wouldn’t do. Harry would be far more valuable to him if he could get him onside and he was not going to allow one of his own horcruxes to persist in rebellion against him. Harry would be made to accept his new circumstance. He would join the Dark Lord or he would be broken until he had no remaining will for rebellion.

Voldemort entered the makeshift infirmary room in the basement of the safe house to find that the boy was lying unconscious on the bed.

“How is the boy?”

Yaxley turned face him. “The boy’s condition is worse than I would have expected considering he is the vaunted savior of the light. His injuries from today are easily fixed and are mostly healed with the exception of a broken ankle which I will treat after the acromantula venom has been purged from his body. What concerns me more are the symptoms of long term abuse that his body has suffered. He has several improperly healed fractures in his ribs and limbs and he has symptoms of acute malnutrition. It is obvious from my scans that he did not ingest enough calcium as a child for healthy bone growth and as a result his growth was stunted and his bones are brittle. In addition to that his organ tissue has also suffered damage from what I assume to be periods of near starvation. It is difficult for me to wrap my head around how it is possible that he could have been this abused without the wizarding world becoming aware of it or intervening, but as he has been under Dumbledore’s protection I can only assume that this mistreatment is part of some greater plan to mold the boy with hardship.”

Voldemort was furious. To think that a fragment of his soul was forced to suffer yet again, that a piece of his soul could have been lost to him before he ever even knew of it. Had one abusive childhood not been enough for his soul to bear? If Harry had died and his soul had been released he would never have had any reason to suspect that a fragment of his soul was lost and wandering at large. He attempted to rein in his anger. It wouldn’t do to misdirect his fury at Yaxley. He needed Yaxley to fix this.

“What is it you intend to do to fix these deficiencies?” Voldemort asked in a steely tone that passed as calm for him.

“I think it best that we put the boy in suspended animation for a few months with the draught of living death. I can not image that he would be cooperative with treatment by a death eater, nor do I think it likely my affiliation can be concealed for the long term. Most of the bones in his body will need to be systematically vanished and regrown with skele-gro following an aggressive regimen of calcium rich nutrition potions. Once his body has regained healthy bone density I will begin treating the other symptoms of his malnutrition and repairing the damage that was done to his organs. While he is on the regimen of nutrition potions it would also be worthwhile to administer growth potions to help restore him to the natural growth proportions that he would have achieved had he not been starved as a child.”

“And after all of this he will be well?”

“Yes, the treatment I just described would restore him to good health within three months. Though I admit even after that time I will likely recommend that he continue taking mild nutrition potions for months to come. I may also suggest that he take vision corrective potions. Though that will require his waking cooperation which may be difficult to obtain.”

“There can be no mistakes in this matter. The full restoration of Potter’s health is to be your first priority. I will leave you to your administrations. Do not fail me.”

Without further adieu Voldemort swept out of the infirmary and made his way to the ritual magic chamber in the basement of the house. He took a deep breath and allowed himself a brief moment to gather his resolve. The ordeal ahead would not be pleasant but it would be necessary. He had seen in the boy’s mind that his diary had been destroyed. Meaning that the fragment of soul previously ensconced in the diary was now untethered. This couldn’t be allowed to persist. It would be disastrous if a second Tom Riddle became corporal and without a vessel to entrap it the soul fragment would not even serve as a horcrux.

No, the only choice was to reabsorb it and to that he would need to feel remorse for murdering Myrtle Warren. He had never regretted her death for her sake. The girl had been intellectually mediocre, had been descended from filth and had been uniformly despised by her peers for her clingy, overly emotional, and perverse personality. She had had no friends to speak of at Hogwarts and had not been missed. No, Voldemort would not be able to make himself feel remorse for her sake. But perhaps… Yes, he could feel remorse for her death. For the inconvenience that her death caused him. For the fact that Hogwarts had very nearly been shut down and that he had been forced to abandon the chamber of secrets.

He did regret that loss. Dumbledore always watched him annoyingly closely after that. He had never again been able to slip into the chamber. He had been forced to relinquish the library of his ancestor. The priceless knowledge in those tomes was lost to him just because a stupid mudblood had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yes, he regretted that he wasn’t more careful with the basilisk, that he hadn’t ordered the basilisk to petrify only before leaving the sink. He regretted… he regretted.

Voldemort felt a sudden intense pain radiating outwards from his chest and a powerful whirling of dark magic all around him flowing into his body and burning him from the inside out. He felt his skin melting and morphing. His body sinking several inches. His skeletal fingers fleshing out, his scalp itching with the rapid eruption of new hair follicles. He was trapped in a whirlwind of his own magic unable to hinder or even properly assess what was happening to his body. He hadn’t anticipated any physical changes accompanying the reabsorption of his errant soul piece.

He mentally chided himself for his impulsive and unresearched actions as he endured the worse pain of his life. It was so foolish of him not to account for how the ritual remorse would interact with the resurrection potion that was still fresh in his body. But then as fast as the pain had begun it ended and with it his magic released him and he collapsed sprawled onto the floor of the ritual chamber. He allowed himself to fall back onto the floor. He knew he did not have the strength to stand and there was no one present to witness his fleeting moment of weakness. He spent several minutes just breathing deeply and calming his racing heart before curiosity got the better of him.

He pushed himself up from off the floor and made his way back upstairs to the anteroom where he had glanced at a floor length mirror when he first arrived. He stepped back in shock as he first glimpsed himself. At first glance he looked like the spitting image of his sixteen year old self. From the neatly coiffed raven hair to the perfect straight nose and full lips. It was only upon deeper inspection that he could appreciate the vestiges of his ritually restored body. His eyes were still crimson and his pupils were still slitted. His skin still held an unnatural pallor though admittedly not the stark white he had been before. His tongue was still elongated and forked at the tip. Everything else though… he gave himself a thorough inspection from head to toe. He regretted now that he had not taken the time to fully inspect his ritually created body. He had not thought it at risk and now he couldn’t be certain how much had been changed by the reabsorption of his horcrux.

Unwilling to waste time lamenting the possible unknown side effects of his rash reabsorption of his soul fragment, especially when there were so many more important uses for his time and energy, Voldemort made himself busy accessing the current ward scheme and making plans for improvement. The wards as the currently stood were adequate to hold of an assault from the light for long enough for the people inside the wards to escape but they would not be able to withstand a prolonged siege. Moreover, there was a decided lack of cloaking wards. He did not want this house found. Harry Potter was his now and he was not going to allow his horcrux to fall once again into the hands of his enemies out of negligence.

Perhaps he would even use the fidelius charm. There would be a certain poetic justice to him using it to actually protect Harry Potter. He smirked at the thought of how the light would react to that. He could just image their outraged faces at the thought of him using their own tools against them. Unlike many Voldemort didn’t believe in restricting himself to one branch of magic. Light and Dark it was all arbitrary distinctions designed by political factions to divide the wizarding populace. Magic was power pure and simple and he would use any and all of it to achieve his desired ends.

What to do about the boy though. He knew from their encounter at the end of the boy’s first year that Harry would not be swayed to his side by promises of ultimate power or immortality. The boy would need to be contained until he could be brought to heel. The fidelius charm would not be enough. It would keep their enemies out but it would not keep the boy in. No, he would need to take drastic measures to keep the boy by his side and he had the perfect idea of what he could do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit torn on how emotionally capable I want the new Tom/ Voldemort to be. On the one hand canonically he is a sociopath and isn't capable of love, but on the other hand one could argue that his pathology could be a side effect of all the damage that he did to his soul and that with soul reparation his capacity for emotion could be restored. I'm of two minds on the issue. 
> 
> At the very least Tom will feel protective/possessive towards Harry. Even if Tom loves nothing else he loves himself. Harry being a Horcrux is a logical extension of himself and as such his self preservation instincts will want to protect that. Tom will also be lustful (eventually) because he is a 16 year old boy (physically). 
> 
> This may never be a true love match. I haven't decided yet. If you have strong opinions comment, I'd be interested to see what the crowd consensus is. In either case I will endeavor to keep Tom as in character as is possible. So count on him being a manipulative little shit :-P


	4. The End of Mad-Eye Moody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barty Crouch Jr. escapes from Hogwarts.

**Chapter 4: The End of Mad-Eye Moody**

Barty watched through the hedge maze as Potter and that Diggory boy vanished with the triwizard cup. Of all stupid noble nonsense things. Barty took a deep breath to quell his frustration. It mattered not. The Diggory boy would be no obstacle for his master. Harry Potter had been successfully captured from right under Dumbledore’s nose. The Dark Lord would be restored and the fight for magic could continue. All was well.

Barty forced himself to continue to patrol calmly around the maze. He would wait as long as he could before alerting the judges to the disappearance of the two boys. Long enough to prevent any successful rescue attempts. It would be a delicate balance. Moody was known for his all seeing eye. If anyone else were to realized that the contestants were missing before Barty declared it than suspicion would fall on him for not having mentioned it. Perhaps he could make the excuse of needing to relieve himself. The task had already been going on for nigh on two hours and Moody was not a young man. It would not be overly suspicious if he required a bathroom break and with the number of patrollers around the maze his absence wouldn’t seem like a dereliction of duty.

If he had a plausible excuse for not being present when the boys went missing than it would divert the blame. Though he would need to time it carefully. He could only reasonably leave one time and once he left he his absence would be noted when it exceeded the normal amount of time for such things. There would be no returning. If he returned he would need to declare with alarm that the two boys were missing from the maze and as his objective was to buy the Dark Lord as much time as possible doing that would be highly counterproductive. No, with any luck his absence would distract the judges from noticing that the champions had been port keyed away.

Yes, a few more circuits around the maze and he would make his way back to the castle. It would be the perfect opportunity for him to clean up his loose ends. The real Moody could not be left living when he made his escape. He owed more to Bella than to allow that.

As expected his announcement to Minerva that he needed to ‘hop to the loo as he was prairie dogging’ earned him nothing but a disapproving eyebrow raise at his uncouth terminology. Dumbledore might have been a bit more suspicious, but that is why he wasn’t telling Dumbledore. No, the old man wouldn’t know he had left the maze until Minerva became worried about his continued absence, which with any luck would take quite some time. He would be well gone from Hogwarts by then.

Once he was out of sight of the maze he hastened his pace, which was no small feat given the peg leg, but however important escape was revenge was important too. Moody deserved to suffer for what he had done during the last war.

As he entered his office he couldn’t bite back his feral grin. It had been so hard these past months to have Moody so close and to not revenge himself. Moody had been the one to arrest him after his cover was blown. Moody had instigated the culling. Moody had hurt Rabastan. Moody would pay for his crimes with pain and humiliation. As Barty entered the room he felt the polyjuice potion wearing off. He had time his retreat perfectly. He quickly removed the fake eye and leg before they could hinder his transformation back. There was something extra satisfying about being able to execute his revenge face to real face. Moody would know who killed him.

Barty levitated the old man out from the deepest of the seven trunk chambers. Moody was emaciated with months of malnourishment and weak from hunger and poor sleep. He looked especially pathetic without his eye and leg. Barty made a mental note to reattach those after Moody was dead.

“Well, well, and how are we feeling today Mad-Eye?”

Moody’s one good eye met Barty’s defiantly and he spat.

“I see your time in the trunk hasn’t done much for your manners. So uncivilized.”

Barty hit Moody, who was still being levitated, with a petrificus totalus for good measure.

“Sadly, today will be the last of our little interludes. You see, my Lord is back now, and he needs me more than you. But even I’m not so cruel as to just leave a man in a trunk to slowly starve to death. Why they might have never found your body at all. No, I have too much respect for tradition for that. You may be my enemy but you still deserve a proper burial. I will make sure your body is found.”

If Barty was expecting Moody’s eyes to glint with fear he was disappointed. Moody was made of sterner stuff than that and listened to Barty’s threats with stoic apathy towards his own impending doom.

Barty levitated Moody’s body through the office, into the professor’s personal chambers, and then into the bathroom.

“I’ve led them to believe that I was in desperate need of relief. This will be the first place they look for you. I wish very much that I had the time to make you suffer as you deserve. To pay you in kind for the irrecoverable harm that you and your underlings have done to the so called ‘dark families’. But, I will have to content myself with brief though excruciating pain, and eternal humiliation.”

Here Barty pulled down Moody’s pants and undergarments and positioned him above the toilet.

“When it finally becomes known that the Boy-Who-Lived was kidnapped from right under yours and Dumbledore’s noses and everyone inevitably asks where you were when it happened the answer will be that you were shitting yourself to death. cessarent caeli cordis!!!” Barty cast.

Moody’s eyes flashed in pain as his body began going into cardiac arrest. A heart attack was not a pleasant way to die. Barty watched in grim satisfaction as the light faded from his former foes eyes. He would save this memory for Bella. Vengeance was sweet.

Barty quickly reattached the eye and peg leg before nature could take it’s course and force Moody to mess himself. Barty left the room satisfied that Moody would never be able to harm his loved ones again.

He took careful inventory of anything that he be attributed to him. All of his polyjuice potion supplies were packed and ready to go. As an afterthought he grabbed Potter’s map. Such an artifact could be useful to his Lord. With one last look at the chambers that he had lived in for the past ten months Barty disappeared under one of Moody’s invisibility cloaks and vanished from Hogwarts undetected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is as good a place as any to explain how I intend to portray the wizarding war and the 'light' and 'dark' in my story. This story will not have a good or evil side. Real wars don't have good and evil. They have two groups of people that disagree on something to the point that they are willing to fight and die over it. The wizarding war is no different. In my story death eaters are more than just insane terrorists, they are rebels against a government they they are trying to overthrow for political reasons. (I won't spoil what they are fighting for just yet, but it is not blood supremacy) 
> 
> Yes, there are those among the death eaters who are violent crazed sadists and who don't give a crap about any cause but rather just want any excuse to cause death and mayhem. In the first wizarding war Voldemort allowed such people into his ranks because he needed numbers and he didn't really care what horrors they committed in their spare time as long as they followed orders when he needed them to (remember Voldemort was a bit unhinged himself during the first war). 
> 
> In my version of the war the so called 'light' also committed atrocities against 'dark' families. But since the 'light' is in control of both the ministry and the media their crimes were never publicized. 
> 
> This isn't going to be one of those stories where suddenly everyone on the light side is evil either. There will be a little bit of Dumbledore bashing much later in the story, but not more than would be appropriate for his canonical treatment of Harry.


	5. The Summoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort summons his inner circle.

**Chapter 5: The Summoning**

In the weeks following his resurrection the Dark Lord kept himself busy. While he had originally planned to summon his followers the night of his rebirth, the unexpected discovery that Harry Potter was his horcrux had changed everything. He could not risk exposing himself or his horcrux until he could be assured of the security of the latter. The safe house, which in the past had only ever been used as a temporary retreat and which had been entirely neglected since his fall was in a state of considerable disrepair. Reinforcing and in some cases rebuilding sections of the safe house to make it into an impenetrable stronghold was time consuming work, especially when one insisted on doing it by themselves. There is no one else he trusted enough to develop the necessary warding and cloaking that Haven House, as he had chosen to name it, would require.

On top of all of that, a considerable amount of time was also devoted to his plans for the boy himself and the measures that Voldemort would need to take to prevent the boy from escaping and to eventually turn the boy to his side. So much work to do so little time. As a result of this flurry of business he didn’t have the opportunity to summon his followers until well into August. He was especially anxious to hear the reports from those who were employed by the ministry as determining the current political climate would be essential in the formation of any future plans for take over.

Given the extremely public nature of Harry Potter’s disappearance, it had been impossible for the ministry to hush it up. Voldemort had greatly enjoyed reading the Daily Prophet’s increasingly off the wall guesses on Harry Potter’s whereabouts. Surprisingly, or considering how gullible the wizarding public were perhaps not so surprisingly, ‘kidnapped by Voldemort’ was not yet among the Daily Prophet’s speculations. No doubt the old coot suspected the truth, but either he was keeping his assumptions to himself or the ministry was sticking their heads in the sand. Time would tell.

Voldemort had assigned Barty, who was the only person besides himself and Healer Yaxley able to enter Haven House, the task of researching the whereabouts and loyalties of his former followers. These two months of waiting had given him time to reconsider his initial plans. While he had originally intended to summon all his followers as a test of loyalty, those not appearing thus marking themselves as traitors, with more time to consider the matter he concluded that it would be more prudent to summon only those he could reasonably believe would still be loyal to him. Traitors like Karkaroff could be hunted down later at his leisure. For now discretion was key. His best strategy for successful infiltration and toppling of the ministry would be subtly. After all, Slytherins are known for their stealth not their brute force.

Reflecting on the latter years of the last war he felt extreme dissatisfaction both with the direction the war had taken, the behavior of his followers, and his own actions. He had played right into the hands of the ‘Light’. His actions, or in the case of his failure to rein in his more violent followers his lack of action, had seemingly validated the ‘Light’s’ portrayal of him as a genocidal maniac rather than the charismatic reformist of his youth. No more. He would not allow ‘Light’ propaganda to besmirch the actual goals of his revolution. This change in strategy would require delicate handling however.

Voldemort had never been one to turn away willing wands to fight for his cause regardless of what their motivation for pledging themselves may have been. He had always seen the benefit of greater numbers as outweighing the disadvantages that disloyal or undisciplined troops would bring. As a result no small amount of his forces was comprised of fighters who cared little to nothing for the cause and who had joined his forces only because doing so would afford them opportunities to cause mayhem and commit violent acts with minimal risk of being caught and persecuted for it.

Handling these sorts of followers could be a challenge. Intimidation was always a compelling option. He could continue to rule his followers through fear as he had done in the past. Though he suspected his teenage heartthrob appearance may somewhat undermine that strategy. However, Voldemort knew that fear would not inspire loyalty and that disloyal servants were a liability he was not sure he wanted to allow again.

One traitor could cause terrible damage to the ranks. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Barty, Rookwood, and other true loyalists had been imprisoned in Azkaban on the word of Karkaroff. He would liberate his loyal followers in time, but for the present he knew he needed to decide what his forces were going to look like going forward.

The last war had been a travesty. The wizarding population permanently damaged by the loss of life and from the culling by the ‘Light’. There would be no point in his revolution if there were no witches and wizards left alive at the end of the war. Different measures were needed. Mindless violence would not achieve his goals.

He wondered why he had ever let the last war get so out of hand. Allowing werewolves to savage wizarding villages, allowing for the blatant destruction of muggle infrastructure and risking the exposure of magic, and allowing unprovoked violence on those with non-magical blood. It was no wonder his followers had been villainized and the true purpose of his movement had been forgotten.

Looking back on it now he was appalled at his own former apathy to the crimes of his followers. Not for the last time he wondered if the reabsorption of his diary horcrux restored more than just his good looks. Perhaps he too had been a gone a bit mad before. At the very least he had lost his way. He had lost focus on the things that were important, the things he was trying to change and the future he was trying to forge. It was an unsettling revelation that his quest for immortality could have cost him his mental faculties.

But no more, he would not allow himself to lose sight of his goals again. Those bearing his mark would not be permitted to commit atrocities in his name. For now he would inform only the best of his forces of his return. He would decide how to handle the Greyback’s and Macnair’s of his forces at a later date. Today he would be more circumspect and would summon only those who he knew to be devoted to the actual cause of his rebellion. Those who he could trust in the days to come. Those with useful positions who could provide insight into the current climate of the ministry and Hogwarts.

He took a deep breath. So few of his original followers were still with him. Most had died in the first war and those who had survived were too loyal to denounce him and had inevitably ended up in Azkaban. Those he would summon today would not recognize his youthful visage. He hoped rather than believed that there would be no dissension in his ranks over his seeming youth. While he may be 16 in body he had all 68 years of his life and he would tolerate no disrespect.

He had chosen a field outside of Leeds for tonight’s meeting and had pre-charmed the field with notice-me-not and muggle repellant wards. He had considered meeting at one of his safe houses but decided it wasn’t worth the risk. If any of tonight’s death eaters proved undeserving of his trust he didn’t want the few safe houses that had survived the ministry investigations at the end of the first war to be exposed. He didn’t have the luxury of time at present to establish new ones. Someday he would rebuild up the infrastructure he had before, but there was more pressing concerns at present.

He needed to know what the state of the ministry was in. Was his return being investigated? Had Dumbledore shared his likely suspicions with the Ministry? Were his former followers being watched for suspicious activity?

He touched his wand to the inside of his left wrist against the tiny master sigil to which all the Dark Marks were tied and he thought of the twelve death eaters he wanted to summon tonight. Anthony Greengrass, Lucius Malfoy, Thorfinn Rowle, Silvas Selwyn, Tirone Mulciber, Corban Yaxley, Jonas Jugson, Barty Crouch Jr., Theodore Nott Sr, Argo Pyrites, and Severus Snape.

He felt his magic swirl through his marks as it reached out and connected with his chosen followers. As the connections snapped into place he felt a surge of power as the dark marks flared back to life after nearly fourteen years of dormancy.

His resurrection had not dampened his flare for the dramatic. Especially with his much altered appearance Voldemort wanted his entrance to leave none in doubt that he was their Lord. He cast a very powerful disillusionment charm on himself making himself effectively invisible. He would lie in wait until all of his chosen followers arrived.

Within minutes the air was rent with the crack of apparition as his cloaked followers descended around him. Under the cover of his disillusionment charm he smirked triumphantly. Finally his revolution would begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having such fun fun with this story. Thanks to NaNoWriMo I've already written through chapter 8. So the Monday, Wednesday, Saturday update schedule should continue for the foreseeable future. I hope you all enjoy my less insane than in canon Voldemort. My Voldemort is basically the 68 years worth of memories with the body and personality of the 16 year old Tom I hope it doesn't come across as OOC, because I really am trying to keep him in character. Tom always seemed to me to be highly ambitious and charismatic which fits the reformer I'm trying to paint him as. As for the feels aspect. I have decided that I'm am not going to have him be an emotionless sociopath incapable of love. I'm certainly not prescribing to the children conceived with love potions can't love trope. Instead he is just an emotionally deprived individual who, as a result of a loveless abusive childhood doesn't properly understand feelings or the boundaries of healthy relationships. Tom is covetous, possessive, entitled, and used to getting what he wants. Harry has no idea what he is about to get into.


	6. The Order of the Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snape resumes his role as a double agent.

Severus Snape knew he shouldn’t be surprised. His mark had been darkening for months. Potter had been missing since the third task. Dumbledore had always suspected Voldemort to be somehow involved. But, somehow Severus had still clung to the vain hope that he was wrong. He had prayed that the time for him to resume his double life had not yet come. But there was no ignoring the truth now. The meaning of the burning on his forearm could not be mistaken. He was being summoned so to his master he must go. He could only hope that his occlumency mastery would be sufficient to hide his deceit and that Voldemort would be forgiving of his apparent betrayal at the end of the first war.

He donned his robe and mask and with one last sigh turned on his heel and CRACK left Spinner’s End behind.

He reappeared on an unfamiliar field. He always hated that about disapparating with his mark. There was something very disconcerting about apparating into the unknown. Mercifully he was not being summoned alone, the air was rent with continual CRACKs every few seconds. He was grateful for the few moments this allowed him to regain his equilibrium before he would be forced to face his Master’s scrutiny.

When the air had been silent for several long moments a man suddenly appeared out of thin air about ten yards away with the dispelling of what must have been an incredibly powerful disillusionment charm.

Upon closer inspection Severus determined that it was not a man but a teenage boy, a handsome one with a large snake draped casually over his shoulders. Before Snape could take even a moment to wonder at his identity the man spoke.

“Welcome my faithful few, to this the first gathering of our renewed revolution.”

Snape usually stoic facade fractured momentarily. ‘The young man is Voldemort.’

“I’m sure you are all wondering at my appearance. Though it is not my habit to entertain the impertinent curiosities of my servants in this one instance I will oblige you. I have these past 14 years been little more than a bodiless wrath. My methods of immortality, while preserving me from death, do not on their own ensure me a physical form. It has taken me time, considerable effort, and the assistance of one of my most loyal,” Here he nodded in the direction of one of the masked followers in the crowd. How he could ascertain their identities when they were all identically garbed, Snape didn’t presume to know, but figured must have to do with their connections through their dark marks. The dark lord continued.

“but I have at last managed to regain a body. As a result of the ritual substances used in the formation of this body and other external factors my physical form has reverted to that of my 16 year old self, those of my followers who attended school with me,” Here the Dark Lord’s eye swept around through the crowd, “sadly none of whom are able to be with us today, will recognize me as such. I strongly suggest you take me at my word on this point. You will not like my reaction should any of you treat me with anything less than the deference I am due as your master. Youthful appearance notwithstanding, I am your Lord. This subject will not be brooked again. There is much we need to accomplish in the coming months. You will notice that you are few. I have chosen, for the time being to summon only you twelve. My best and my brightest. My new inner circle. The last war,”

Here he paused as though hesitating over his own words, “was not conducted in a manner that was conducive to our achieving our actual objectives. Mistakes were made, liberties were taken, and unnecessary violence was done which besmirched the reputation of our entire movement. I regret allowing such reckless abandon among my ranks. There will be no reckless violence this time around. We are not terrorists! We are revolutionaries! We will comport ourselves with the dignity and self restraint that is to be expected from people who are asserting themselves as liberators of the wizarding world. I will not pretend that there will be no blood shed. Revolutions always require some loss of life. But I will no longer tolerate mass murdering that does nothing to promote our cause. Our ability to sway public opinion to our favor and gain the support of the common people has been irreparably damaged by the senseless violence committed by the unscrupulous of our membership. You will notice that the most vicious offenders have not been invited here today. This war will be conducted in the shadows we will take the ministry from within. For that I will need to know the ins and outs of the ministry as it stands now as well as everything that has happened these last 14 years. You will each report.”

It was several hours later that a tired and overwhelmed Severus Snape apparated to Grimmauld Place. He wished he had the luxury of a rest. He would have loved nothing more than to go home and pretend that today had not happened, that this had all just been a nightmare, but he knew that he could not do that. Dumbledore would need to know at once the things that he had learned if the Light were to have any chance to win. He violently suppressed the part of himself that still wanted the Dark Lord to triumph. He had thought that part of himself had died the day his childhood friend was murdered, but hearing him speak today... it brought back all of the idealistic feelings that had made Severus join the Dark Lord in the first place. He breathed deeply and centered himself. He could not dwell on the past. He had made his choice. He had sworn an unbreakable vow to protect Lily’s son from Voldemort. There could be no turning back at this point. For better or worse he was with the Light now.

He couldn’t help but grimace as he entered the dwelling. Despite having been inhabited by the mutt and the Weasleys for the whole of the summer the condition of the place was still deplorable. The walls were stained with filth and water damage from previous disrepair. The wallpaper was curling off, and there was an ever present mustiness. He suppressed an urge to shudder in disgust and went directly to the kitchen floo grate to inform Dumbledore that he had, at last, been contacted by Voldemort. The old man wasted no time stepping through and joining him at headquarters.

Snape opened his mouth to explain what he had learned but was silenced by a dismissive gesture by Dumbledore.

“While normally I prefer to take your information privately and share only as much as is necessary with the rest of the Order in this case I feel in necessary to summon the principal members at least. We have been operating purely on speculation these past two months. Without any clue of Harry’s whereabouts morale is low and there are some, I fear, that doubt my assertion that Voldemort is truly returned. To hear directly from you that you have seen and interacted with him, it could do immeasurable good to restore the faith in our membership. Please indulge me in this and allow me to summon the rest of the Order before you begin.”

Snape thought it the height of irresponsibility that Dumbledore was asking him to share information without even knowing what said information was, but as he just wanted this meeting to be over and had nothing to share that would be dangerous for any of the Order members to know he saw no reason to decline this request. He nodded his acquiescence, but Dumbledore was no longer paying attention to him. He already had his head back in the fireplace as he began to floo the relevant members. Severus left him to the task and made his way to the meeting room. The kitchen would be crowded with Order members soon enough and he wasn’t keen on socializing.

Too soon the motley crew that was the Order of the Phoenix descended upon the meeting room expectantly. From the inquisitive looks he received Snape inferred that Dumbledore must have given some expectations of an announcement from him. He hated that man’s penchant for dramatic suspense.

Dumbledore coughed to get everyone’s attention. He motioned toward the table and everyone obediently sat down. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. As I briefly explained in the floo we have at last acquired definitive proof that Voldemort is once again among us. Severus, please share your experiences with us.”

Severus bit back a retort that most of those at the table couldn’t handle the things he had experienced in his life, but he controlled himself. These were the people he had chosen to align himself with, there was no point in antagonizing them unnecessarily.

“As you are all no doubt aware the Dark Lord is once more among us. Today my dark mark burned and myself and eleven others were summoned before him. This I understand, was the first meeting of death eaters he has called since is resurrection in June. He has undergone some as yet undisclosed ritual to regain a body and has as a result of this ritual been fully physically restored into a body that he claims resembles his once sixteen year old self.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows went up to his forehead and he interjected. “Did he explain why he was so youthful in appearance?”

Snape bristled at the interruption of his narrative, but nevertheless answered. “He claimed that his youthful appearance was a result of an interaction between the ingredients he used for his ritual and quote ‘external factors’.

He gave no further insight into the particulars and no one in attendance was stupid even to press the point. After his brief explanation of his resurrection the Dark Lord explained his plans for the coming war. It seems that he has spent his fourteen years as a bodiless wrath contemplating past mistakes. He regrets the way the first war was conducted and is determined to change his strategy going forward. In particular he intends to clamp down on the senseless violence. I’m not sure what role Greyback and the other most violent offenders will play in the coming conflict but the fact that they were not summoned today and that he intimated that he does not intend for knowledge of his revival to become widespread seems very telling. Most of the meeting was dedicated to information gathering. He commanded all twelve of us to account for the past fourteen years. He was particularly interested in the current intricacies of the Ministry. It seems his plan this time around is for a more circumspect and silent coup of the ministry from within. No formal plans were laid out today, but I did learn some interesting information. One of the death eaters present today was Barty Crouch Jr.”

“Barty Crouch Jr. died in Azkaban.” Sirius interjected snidely.

“It seems reports of his death are wildly exaggerated. Apparently his father snuck him out of Azkaban a year after he was sentenced by smuggling in his dying mother to replace him with polyjuice potion. Barty was then kept under his father’s control with the Imperius curse until he broke free last summer. He was apparently instrumental in the Dark Lord’s resurrection. He too was vague on details regarding the ritual. However he did admit to being responsible for the death of his father and of Alastor Moody. It seems Dumbledore’s suspicions regarding Moody’s death were well founded after all.”

Dumbledore interjected again, “And did they mention Harry Potter?”

“Unfortunately not. However the fact that Moody’s death and Harry Potter’s kidnapping were so closely timed together seems very suspicious.” Severus answered.

“The boy is dead Albus, yer wastin’ yer time lookin’ fer sommat s’bin dead an gone these two months. Ain’t no way you-know-who would leave ‘im be this long.” Mundungus Fletcher pronounced.

“I assure you that Harry Potter is alive. What his current health or living conditions are I can’t say. But the wards around the home of his relatives are tied to him. If he were dead they would have fallen. I have a device that tracks them in my office. The wards are still intact. Harry Potter lives.”

The rest of the meeting was solemn as those who were close to Moody once again commiserated over his loss while Mrs. Weasley and an unusually subdued Sirius black fretted over the the likely horrors Harry was facing. Severus just wished he could be anywhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to be spending much time on Snape in this fic, but I wanted to dedicate at least this one chapter to his untenable situation of being torn between a cause he believes in (that is now being properly handled by its leader) and the vows he made to the Light during a period of grief. This will not be a Snape betrays the Light story. He's made his bed with Dumbledore and he has to lie in it. But he doesn't have to be happy about it. No one in the Order of the Phoenix respects or cares for him. He has no true friends there. You'll notice that I didn't even have anyone ask him if he was okay, if he was tortured for his presumed post-war defection, etc etc. They don't care about his well being, they only care about the information he can give them. I believe this was also true in Canon.


	7. Collared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort takes preventive measures to ensure that Harry can never escape him.

 

Voldemort gazed with admiration on what was undoubtedly his most brilliant creation to date. It had taken him the better part of two months to design and enchant it but it was a masterpiece of magical artistry and craftsmanship. He had been inspired by a legend he once read about a magical device that had once been created for the heir of a powerful pure blooded family.

In the legend the heir was an only child and was the last of his line. To his parents shame and horror their lone heir was born a squib. Unwilling to allow it to be known that the magic of their line was dead the child's parents commissioned a powerful artifact to be made by one of the most revered, though infamous, enchanters of their time. Their desire was to have a device created that would allow their son to channel magic and as such to conceal his squibhood.

This device created was a silver leash which attached a collar to a bracelet. The bracelet to be worn by the heir and the collar to be worn by whatever poor witch or wizard the family managed to capture and subjugate with the leash. For obvious reasons they tended to kidnap muggle-borns or those from insignificant families who had no political clout with which to demand their loved ones be returned to them. The legend of course predating any kind of magical law enforcement.

The purpose of the leash was manifold. Firstly it allowed the user to manipulate the flow of the captive wizards magic either allowing or disallowing its use, the heir would be able to channel the magic against the will of the enslaved wizard. Secondly it was enchanted with protections which made it impossible for the subjugated wizard to harm their captor, this was of course important since captives were likely to fight their enslavement otherwise. Thirdly it was charmed so that the collar could only be removed by the wearer of the bracelet, and any attempt to remove the collar by anyone other than the bracelet wearer would make the collared one violently ill. Fourthly, the collared one could not move beyond the length of the leash even when the bracelet was not in use. The bracelet would hold the collared one stationary until such a time as it was once again reclaimed by the master.

Whether or not this magic siphoning leash ever actually existed was not known. But the idea was the source of inspiration for his own enchanted collar and bracelet set. Voldemort of course made several modifications and improvements to the idea to better suit his particular needs. After all his needs were different the the legendary squib heir. He did not need to steal Harry’s magic as he had his own. What he needed was a way to secure Harry. So instead of a leash he made a matching ouroboros necklace and bracelet set. The necklace was enchanted to prevent the wearer from causing harm to the bracelet wearer, prevent the collared one from removing the necklace, and to force the them to always stay within 100 feet of the bracelet (this included a linked portkey feature), additionally the bracelet wearer would have the optional ability to close off access to the collared one’s magic.

Voldemort knew that this latter feature would likely be necessary should Harry’s accidental magic ever flare out defensively, a likely possibility considering the boy’s temper and the unlikelihood that he would acquiesce to his captivity peaceably. He hoped however that it would only be needed sparingly as he knew that would obviously breed contempt and would thwart his ability to convert Harry to his side. But Voldemort was not naive, he knew it was highly likely than in the early days of Harry’s return to consciousness the boy would be irate and would likely put up a great deal of opposition to the terms of his imprisonment. Voldemort would not coddle the boy. It may be true that you catch more flies with honey but Voldemort was not a soft man and he would brook no disrespect from his horcrux. The boy would be trained and he would be brought to heel.  

He fingered the intricate scaling detail on the necklace. It really was a beautiful piece of workmanship. He could easily imagine it resting against Harry’s pale slender neck. He had been watching the boy throughout his recovery. Yaxley gave him daily written updates but there was some things it was better to see with your own eyes. Without even thinking about it his feet often guided him to the boy’s chambers.

After he was dosed with the draught of living death the boy had been moved from the makeshift basement infirmary to one of the bedroom suites upstairs. It was a small manor having only three floors including the basement but it suited their needs admirably. The basement had a ritual chamber, a potions lab, and the spare room that they had set up as an infirmary. The first floor had a kitchen, dining room, parlor, and library. The second floor had four bedrooms. One of which he had turned into a study for his own use.

Though it had not originally been his intent to reside in this safe house, he had originally planned to make his home at an abandoned Lestrange Manor which was the new headquarters for his war effort and was still under fidelius charm from the first war, but he hadn’t been able to part with his horcrux.

Though he trusted Barty and Yaxley, who were alternately acting as guards, to protect the boy he hadn’t been able to rid himself of the disconcerting urge to remain near his soul piece. As such it had been necessary for him to move into Haven House himself. Nagini was thrilled with the move. Haven House was nestled deeply in a wooded area and was surrounded by ample prey for Nagini to hunt.

Voldemort had initially been less sanguine about the house, but after expanding the library and bedrooms with space expansion charms and transporting his hidden cache of books and artifacts into his new library and study respectively he had made himself quite at home, however odd the notion of ‘home’ may have been to Voldemort.

As he approached the boy’s doorknob he cast a silent homenum revelio through the door. He always preferred his visits to Harry to go unremarked upon by the boy’s two sentinels. He didn’t want his death eaters questioning the nature of his relationship to the boy. He had made the mistake of trusting the knowledge of his horcruxes to followers in the past and it had led to the diary being destroyed. He would not be hasty to make that same mistake again.

The room was empty save for Harry so Voldemort breezed in. The boy had undergone considerable physical changes in the past two and a half months. Where he was once tiny and emaciated he had now filled out to the point that he had no protruding ribs and with the assistance of nutrient and growth potions he had gained five inches in height for a respectable 5’8’’. He was still several inches shorter than Voldemort, but then again he was only 15. He still had years of maturing left to do.

Harry was resting peacefully on the bed looking as though he were only deeply asleep. Voldemort sat of the edge of bed and leant forward over Harry’s prone form. With uncharacteristic gentleness he open Harry bathrobe exposing his bare chest to the cool night air. Harry’s nipples puckered at the sudden chill, but Harry made no other response to his sudden disrobing. Voldemort watched in momentary fascination as Harry’s chest rose and fell with each breath he took. His sworn enemy, so close, so vulnerable, but he would never kill him. His horcrux, his living breathing soul.

His fingers trailed across the boy’s neck dipping down and brushing across his exposed collar bones. He was tempted to collar the boy now. He could so easily imagine his creation resting against the pale porcelain skin. He gave into the urge. There was no point in waiting after all. The boy would be no more or less outraged to awake collared than the be collared after waking and he wanted to feel the boy’s magic against his skin. He carefully unraveled the snake necklace along the contours of the boy’s neck.

"Clasp yourself around the boys neck." He commanded the snake in parseltongue. The snake obediently slithered around the boy’s neck and bit its own tail. He had keyed the control commands for the necklace and bracelet in parseltongue as an added precaution against tampering. No one but himself would have the knowledge or ability necessary to liberate the boy. He smirked at his own brilliance.

The snake looked every bit as beautiful as he had imagined. The silver scales glinted in the low light of the room and the emerald eyes, he knew, would perfectly match the boy’s own once he regained consciousness.

Yaxley assured him that it would only be a few more days before it would be safe to wake the boy. His bones had already successfully been vanished and regrown and he was on the last of the weeks worth of accelerated nutrition and growth potions. After that the boy’s treatment would be reduced to a less aggressive regimen of nutrient potions and a daily eye corrective potion, if the boy could be convinced to cooperate. Neither of which would necessitate that he remain in magical stasis.

Voldemort longed to see the boy’s face the moment he realized how utterly and completely trapped he was. While Voldemort was no longer bent on the boy’s destruction he couldn’t completely suppress his vindictive spirit. The boy’s spirit wouldn’t be crushed so easily, but he would be affected. There was no way he could remain nonchalant in the face of such a complete and utter defeat. Voldemort could almost taste his imminent victory.

His fingers absently traced along the snake, fingernails gently scratching against Harry’s chest.

“You’re mine.” Voldemort hissed into the silence of the room. Harry slept on, blissfully unaware of what awaited him upon waking.

The following week crept by very slowly for Voldemort. He wore the ouroboros bracelet whenever he was home and alternated between suppressing and releasing the boy’s magic just so he could feel the momentary surge of it against his skin. He maintained his clandestine daily visits to Harry’s chamber’s whenever he knew the boy to be unattended by Yaxley.

He couldn’t explain the draw to he felt to the boy, even to himself, except to assume it was somehow tied to the boys status as his horcrux. When Voldemort was sure that there was no risk of them being disturbed he would caress the curse scar that held his soul. He swore he could feel his own magic dancing at his fingertips. It was an arousing sensation.

Voldemort was no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh. In his youth, before he had created his 4th horcrux and subsequently lost his drive for sex, he had enjoyed numerous lovers. His good looks and charm had drawn in men and women alike and he had often used the lust others felt toward him as a means to control them or to achieve his own ends.

As such, he was not confused by the evolving interest he had in the boy’s physique. As the boy regained good health and lost his inordinately youthful appearance his attraction to the boy grew. He began to muse on whether his restored attractiveness could be used to lure the boy to his side? While it had been decades since he had felt the need to seduce someone, having shifted to generally more violent forms of persuasion, he had no doubts of his skill. Could the boy be wooed? Time would tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure here, I'm not a fan of this chapter. I tried to edit it and make it into something I liked better, but I am still just meh about it. Unfortunately it is kind of a necessary chapter. Harry being collared is an important plot point for obvious reasons so whether I like it or not I couldn't just cut it out. 
> 
> I apologize for how creepy Voldemort came off in this chapter. I wanted to go for a possessive/obsessive feel, but instead it just came off as creepy. I tried to brainstorm on how I could make it less so, but I quickly realized that there is no non-creepy way to have a grown man fondle and put jewelry on a comatose fifteen year old. That's kinda just inherently creepy soooooo sorry bout that. Sadly this is not a fluffy fic and if I'm being honest their relationship going forward is going to continue to be a dubiously consentual one for a long time.
> 
> Cookies for anyone who spotted the Wheel of Time series reference. The collar and bracelet set are absolutely inspired by the a'dam.


	8. Questionable Intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort's plans are revealed.

Voldemort was in no way accustomed to being questioned by his minions, as such he was greatly surprised when Yaxley entered the study and had the temerity to question his intentions for Harry Potter.

“I have done as you asked these past two months. I have healed Mr. Potter and have done everything in my power to restore him to perfect health. Thus far I have not questioned your orders, but if it is your intention that I continue to work with the boy for the foreseeable future I must ask… what is it that you plan to do with this boy?” Yaxley noticed the Dark Lord unimpressed glare and seemed to suddenly realized that he was treading into dangerous waters by presuming to question his master. “I mean no disrespect my Lord. I am, as always, loyal to you first and foremost, and to our cause secondarily. I merely wish to understand. In the past you have always respected my desire to avoid battle. You know how seriously I take my vows as a healer. I do not wish to hurt the boy. If that is your ultimate intention… I ask that you please leave me out of it.” Yaxley finished with uncharacteristic timidity.

Voldemort watched Yaxley in silence for several seconds, long enough for Yaxley to sweat and begin to regret his presumption, before answering,

“Harry Potter could be a great boon to us. I was hasty 14 years ago. I was eager to act on the fragment of an overheard prophecy of unknown veracity. This prophecy, or at least the little of it that was known to me at the time, seemed to suggest that Harry Potter would be powerful wizard and could someday pose a threat to me. Rather than defer action until I could substantiate the contents of this prophetic claim I immediately sought the death of the Potters. This was a mistake. Unlike her husband Lily Potter was a pragmatic witch, who was willing to use whatever magics necessary to protect her son. While I still to this day don’t know precisely what magics Lily Potter called upon, it is clear that she must have preemptively conducted some sort of self-sacrificial ritual, likely using blood magics, in preparation for my anticipated attack. With her death she powered his protection and as a result my attempt to destroy him rebounded unto myself. It is fortunate that I too have undergone rituals that immunize me from death by avada kedevra.”

“So you no longer wish to kill the boy?” Yaxley interjected.

Voldemort quirked a brow at this obtuseness of the question. “If it was still my wish to kill him than commanding your efforts to restore him to full health would be rather counter-productive, don’t you think?” Voldemort didn’t wait for an answer, “As I stated before, the boy could be an asset to our cause. I believe that he can be brought to our side with… careful maneuvering.”

“You think he can be converted to the dark?”

“I think he can be compelled to act as I wish.”

Yaxley frowned. “It was my understanding from Barty that the boy is immune to the Imperius curse. While I don’t doubt that the curse cast by you would be considerably more powerful than cast by Barty it would be risky to chance it if the boy has an aptitude for resistance.”

“I have no intention of using the Imperius curse. There are other better ways to obtain compliance and loyalty. I have already safeguarded against escape with a magical device of my own creation. Harry isn’t going anywhere. I will have ample time to sway his loyalties.”

“Forgive me sir, but I can not help but feel you are being overly optimistic in this instance. Given your history with the boy I can not imagine that he will be receptive to political overtures from you.”

“It is fortunate then that I will not be his initial point of contact.”

“Sir?”

“Amongst my trusted followers you, I believe, are the most personable and the least likely to antagonize the boy and spoil my designs. Your reasons for joining my cause are such that even the boy, who has no doubt been prejudiced against us by Light propaganda, will not be able to help but feel empathy with your motives. It is my wish that you be the one to present our cause to the boy. I trust that you will present our ambitions in the best possible light.”

Yaxley gulped at the implied threat. “Sir, I am honored by the confidence that you are displaying in my abilities by trusting me with a matter of this import. But, again I cannot help but feel that you are underestimating the boy’s likely animosity towards yourself. I cannot imagine any argument that I could make that would persuade Harry Potter to align himself with the man who murdered his parents. What you ask is not possible.”

“I am not ignorant of the difficulty of the task I have set before you. I am not expecting a miracle overnight. Nor am I planning on relying solely on your conversational abilities to sway the boy. Your biggest obstacle in converting the boy will doubtlessly be his hatred for myself. I intend to remove said obstacle. It is my plan, once the boy wakes, to dose him with a miniscule quantity of amortentia attuned to myself and to slowly increased the dosage over the course of the coming months.”

“You want the boy to love you?”

“I want the boy to be compliant and obedient to me. People in love wish nothing more than to bring happiness to the objects of their affection. If the boy believes himself enamored of me he will do my bidding because he will wish to please me.”

“That is… quite brilliant. I must caution however… you are aware that there could be adverse side effects if the boy is dosed for years on end yes?”

“I do have a potions Newt, Yaxley.” Yaxley blushed at the mild reproof. “Do not concern yourself with this. Though I do not yet have a firm time table in mind I am confident in my ability to woo the boy to our side. Once I am assured that the boy's sentiment towards myself will endure the discontinuation of Amortentia I will desist in dosing him. I will not undo all of the hard work you have put into restoring his good health. If you trust nothing else you can trust that his well being is of a foremost priority to me. Have you any other concerns you wish to raise?” Voldemort said with such a fearsome look as assured Yaxley that any further presumptuous questions today would not be met with continual forbearance from his Lord.

“No Sir, you have been most accommodating in answering all of my questions. I will go attend to the boy now. I believe he will be ready for awakening tomorrow.”

Voldemort smiled genuinely. “Very good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last the love potions tag is legitimized. I'm having so much fun with this story. I already have up through chapter 14 written. So my three updates a week posting schedule is guaranteed at least into December. I sincerely hope to maintain it through the completion of the story. 
> 
> I know this chapter was short. It wasn't part of my original outline but after reading through what I had written I realized it felt a bit weird to jump from Voldemort fondling Harry in his sleep to Yaxley waking Harry up and talking about the war so I added this in as a bit of a segue. I hope you aren't too disappointed by it's brevity as there is much more story to come. :)


	9. The Culling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns the truth about the first war.

When Harry awoke it was to a very different scene to the one in which he had fallen asleep. This time his glasses were in place so there was no blurriness to prevent him from seeing the luxury which surrounded him. He was rested on a large four poster bed with silken silver sheets and dark green velvet curtains which were pushed open allowing the day’s sunshine to pour in. The same man whom he had been introduced to when he last awoke was again in the room. This time he was waiting as though he had anticipated Harry’s waking. Voldemort was at least not in sight, small comfort though that was.

Harry wasn’t sure what to say or do under the circumstances. It was obvious from the brief interaction that he had witnessed before he succumbed to the dreamless sleep potion that this Healer, if he was in fact actually a Healer, was a follower of Voldemort and as such could not be trusted. But, Harry had no idea where he was, why he was still alive, or for what reason he was seemingly being well treated. 

Before Harry had a chance to formulate any sort of strategy for how hew planned to interacted with Yaxley that man came forward. 

“Are you experiencing any sense of disorientation?” He asked.

Harry wanted to retort that it was highly disorienting that Voldemort had kidnapped him only to heal his injuries and put him up in a room that rivaled a 4 star hotel suite, but he imagined that was not what the man was referring to. 

“No I have my full faculties.” He replied curtly instead. Harry forced his body out of bed. He was stiff from months of disuse but he refused to face an enemy from a prone position. 

“You have been unconscious for nearly 3 months Mr. Potter. While I was healing your injuries I determined that you were suffering damages from years of acute malnutrition and likely periods of actual starvation. As I was given full reign to implement whatever medical treatment I found necessary to restore you to full health I decided it would be best to put you on an aggressive regimen of nutrition potions and to vanish and regrow most of the bones in your body, all of which were brittle from calcium deficiency and many of which were improperly healed from childhood injuries. As both of these treatments are high unpleasant to endure while awake I thought it best to dose you with the draught of living death and keep you in a medical stasis while your body healed from its childhood abuse.

“Why?”

“As I just said it would have been extremely painful for you to endure either of those treatments while awake.”

“No, I mean why are you treating me at all. Why hasn’t Voldemort killed me yet?”

“I do not believe Voldemort has any intention of killing you. To the contrary he has expended considerable effort these past 3 months securing your safety and comfort.”

“So, you don’t deny being a death eater?”

“I do not deny that I serve the dark lord. Though I am not marked and I do not fight. I am a healer.”

Harry didn’t know what to make of the man’s placid admittance for his allegiance. Harry had expected him to deny any association to Voldemort. 

“How can you just say that so calmly. You claim to be a healer yet you align yourself with a man who tortures and slaughters people for fun.”

“Whatever propaganda you may have been fed by the light I can assure you that the Dark Lord has far more important things to do with his time than commit senseless acts of violence.”

Harry made a doubtful pfft sound and Yaxley continued. 

“I will not deny that violent acts occurred during the last war, but I assure you that atrocities were committed by both sides. Are you familiar with the phrase ‘history is written by the victors’? Well, with the Dark Lord’s unexpected fall the night he attacked your family the Light enjoyed a temporary victory which they took full advantage of. They got to determine how the war would be depicted to and remembered by future generations of British wizards and witches. What do you know about the first war?”

Harry glared and for a moment hesitated to answer. He didn’t want to be tricked into sharing information with the enemy. After reflecting for a moment though he couldn’t imagine any harm in this particular question so he answered. 

“A bunch of blood-purist bigots rounded up together and tried to purge the wizarding world of those they found unworthy.”

“False. While I will not deny that a large number of the Dark Lord’s followers have blood purist views it would not at all be accurate to claim that belief as a universal trait. In fact right of the top of my head I could name a number of half-bloods who served him and obviously disagreed with blood purist notions. Such views had nothing at all to do with the war.”

“You’re saying that the war was not about blood purity?” Harry scoffed.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. The Dark Lord himself does not believe in blood purism, though I know he generally keeps his opinion on the subject to himself to avoid unnecessary conflict with those of his followers who assume he shares their views.”

“So you’re saying he is a panderer?”

“I’m saying he is a politician and that the last war was a political one. Two sides, two groups with opposing views. The current ministry and Dumbledore being on one side and the Dark Lord and those who share in his values on the other.”

“And what are these supposed values if not blood purism?”

“Magic de-regulation.”

Harry lifted an eyebrow. That sounded surprisingly non-dramatic. Yaxley, seeing that Harry wasn’t going to comment motioned to the two chairs across the room and took a seat. Harry wasn’t especially keen on the cozy setting, but he was curious. No one ever seemed to want to talk about the last war. Even if Harry was doubtful that he was about to recieve an unbiased accounting he was still curious. 

Once Harry begrudgingly joined him Yaxley elaborated. “Prior to the 1940’s the practice of all magics were perfectly legal. With the exception of a few guidelines put in place by the statute of secrecy to prevent the exposure of the magical world and to ensure our protection from the muggles there were no laws governing what magic could be used. People were left to use their own judgment to discern which branches of magic they wished to study and use in their everyday lives.”

“That sounds like anarchy.”

“It wasn’t. As a society we still had laws. It was still illegal to commit murder, or to purposefully injure someone, or to steal etc etc. But there were no laws outlaw particular spells or branches of magic. When Grindelwald began his rise to power abroad the British Ministry of Magic wanted to ensure that his movement could not take hold here in Britain. Grindelwald was known for utilizing many powerful and potentially dangerous branches of magic in his war of terror across Europe. He was a blood purist and genocide was the motivation of his war. The Ministry tried to be proactive against recruitment of British citizens by outlawing branches of magic that were in popular use by followers of Grindelwald. In particular Blood Magic, Ritual Magic, Necromancy, and Soul Magic were outlawed. Unfortunately for practitioners of these Arts the ministry was not at all specific about only outlawing things that were inherently bad or dangerous. They banned the branches wholesale. Now as a healer I can tell you that Blood Magic has many completely innocuous but incredibly valuable uses in Healing. It is also very powerful for Warding and Runic Magics. But the Ministry made no legal exceptions. The banning of Ritual Magics was especially offensive to old pure-blooded families as the banning of rituals prevented them from conducting their seasonal religious rites. Dumbledore was one of the largest supporters of these blanket bans. He used his influence as the Deputy Headmaster of Hogwarts to have these magics stripped from the Hogwarts curriculum. Since becoming Headmaster he has also removed relevant books from the school library.”

“This is a wonderful history lesson, but I don’t see what it has to do with Voldemort.”

“The Dark Lord, like many other practitioners of what are know known as the Dark Arts is a liberal users of all branches of magic. It is a travesty of the highest order to attach an Azkaban sentence to the free use of magic. The Dark Lord and his true followers fight to remove these oppressive laws and to remove from power those who would uphold them.”

“You make him sound like a beneficent revolutionary.”

“There are many indeed who view him as such. I see that you doubt me. Your perspective of course does not incline you to view him favorably. You know him only as the man who took your parents from you and whom attempted to take your life when you were and infant. Not everyone has had the purely negative experience that you have. The Dark Lord is many things to many people. Let me tell you a story. My Story. I was not always a follower of the Dark Lord. Though I have always agreed with his political goals of liberating use of magic I did not always approve of the necessity of violence to achieve that goal. As I told you earlier I am first and foremost a healer and I take the axiom ‘first do no harm’ to heart. I am not a violent man. I am not a revolutionary. My wife was like minded to myself. She too was content with neutrality. Not all wizarding families felt a need to declare themselves for either Dumbledore or the Dark Lord. I have an elder brother. He is not a Healer and his passion for the cause has always been stronger than my own. He took the mark as soon as he graduated from Hogwarts. I told you earlier that atrocities were committed by both sides. Allow me to explain what I meant by that. During the first war there were those in the Ministry who felt that extreme measures must be taken to subdued the revolution that was brewing. Dissent tends to run in families because families that practice the the pagan sabbaths and the now forbidden branches of magic tend to be the most outspoken against the Ministries tyrannical imposition. The Ministry put in place a number of policies, some formal some informal, which were used to reduce the chance that future generations of witches and wizards would continue to rebel against the Ministry. First were the raids. The Ministry authorized the raiding of the homes of old wizarding families. They used these raids to confiscate tools used for rituals, which were often priceless family heirlooms, as well as any books that pertained to the forbidden magics or what they began calling the ‘Dark Arts’. That many if not most of theses families had committed no crimes that would entitle the ministry to this unjust search and seizure goes without saying. Anyone foolish enough to fight this unethical violation of their homes would face violent arrests and would often be thrown into Azkaban without the benefit of trial. What was even more insidious was what came later. It is not known for sure whose idea the culling was, though many blame Mad-Eye Moody, but the idea behind the culling was that by preventing the dissenting members of society from procreating they could limit the dissent to the current generation and thus secure victory by attrition. You see they believed that by censoring any of the books that mentioned the ‘Dark Arts’ they could prevent muggle-borns and half-bloods from learning the forbidden magics and by sterilizing the rebellious families of the pure-blood set they could prevent such magics from being passed on. It was a naive aspiration, but never the less a very destructive one. Moody and his subordinates were ruthless in the execution of their ‘culling’ they took advantage of raids to attack women from ‘Dark’ families all under the pretense that the women were resisting arrest or were hindering the efforts of aurors to confiscate contraband. The culling was of course kept off the books and out of the papers. 

They got my wife while she was out shopping in Knockturn Alley. She wasn’t committing any crime, she hadn’t done anything wrong, but she was the wife of a man whose brother was a death eater and that was all the evidence they needed to cull her. She was hit with the an infertility curse. It destroys the womb. Her attackers didn’t know that she was already pregnant at the time. Not that I think it likely that such a consideration would have stayed their hand. But the effect on my wife… She was devastated. She longed for motherhood above all else and she felt the loss of our child very keenly. She never recovered. On the one year anniversary of the assault she took her own life. That was the day I decided to join the Dark Lord. There is no place for neutrality in a conflict such as this. Neutrality didn’t protect my wife or my unborn child. I might not agree with the actions of some of the death eaters amongst my master’s ranks but I do support the Dark Lord and I do everything I can to aid his cause without going against my own principles. The Dark Lord understands that I am not a violent man and as such he uses my talents as a healer to further his cause. As I’m sure you can imagine there are many instances in which his followers require medical attention where it is inadvisable for them to go to St. Mungo’s. I attend them. Just as I have attended you. The Dark Lord has ordered that your health is to be my number one priority. Can you honestly say that the Light has ever done as much for you?”

Harry was struck dumb. That entire speech was such an inundation of new and controversial information that he didn’t even know what to ask first. He knew that he shouldn’t take anything the man said at face value, the man was an admitted death eater for Merlin’s sake. But, he couldn’t bring himself to dismiss it all out of hand. So much of what the man had said rang true and the whole speech had been uttered without hesitation of any sense of deceit. 

“I see that I have given you much to think on. We can of course speak on this again. We will be spending a great deal of time together in the coming months. I am still overseeing your treatment and I am one of only two individuals beside the Dark Lord himself who are keyed into this house. I would like our relationship to be a cordial one, but that of course is up to you. I hope you will consider the words I have told you. Mipsy will be up shortly with a tray for lunch. I suggest you eat. You have grown a great deal since you last ate, your body will be needing food. Good day.”

And without giving Harry the chance to question anything he had just learned the man swiftly swept out of the room leaving a gaping Harry in his wake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, finally some explanation regarding the first war and Voldemort's real agenda. I hope you guys like Yaxley. I'm always iffy about writing original characters, but I want Yaxley to be an example that not all of the death eaters are monsters and that some of Voldemort's followers really were drawn to him for understandable reasons. 
> 
> As the story progresses and Harry meets other death eater's their varied motives will come to light. But Yaxley's is the most immediately important since he is the person besides Voldemort who will be spending the most time with Harry. Though I do hope to get some Barty screen time eventually too. :P


	10. Observant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up.
> 
> Voldemort's POV and Harry's POV

Voldemort watched with baited breath as Yaxley administered the antidote to the draught of living death. Harry would wake and at last he could begin turning him to the Dark side. After much reflection Voldemort had determined that the initial conversion efforts should not come from him. He and Harry had too fraught a history for anything from him to be well received. Yaxley on the other hand was far less threatening and Harry would be far less likely to dismiss his words as the lies of an enemy. 

Voldemort chafed at delegating such an important task, but he trusted that Yaxley would do it justice. After all, the man’s story was a perfect example of the fallacy of the Light and of the evils of their stance on magic. He hoped that it would be enough to plant the seed of doubt in the boy’s mind. 

He watched, hidden once more beneath a powerful disillusionment charm, as the boy woke. His eyes were obscured by his hideous glasses. He would make sure the boy accepted eye corrective treatments from Yaxley. Voldemort watched in fascination as the boy continued to show no fear despite being made aware of his captivity and the fact that he was disarmed in a room with an admitted death eater. The boy was indignant, not afraid. He thought it fitting that his vessel should be so strong willed. It wouldn’t do to have his horcrux cowering in the face of his followers. He would be above them when he accepted his place in the Dark. 

When Yaxley left without letting the boy question anything. He was at first annoyed at him for not having pressed the point or forced the boy to confront the truth of the Light’s lies. But the dumbstruck look on the boy’s face followed by the pensive frown as the boy reflected on the encounter showed him that Yaxley had the right of it. The boy needed time to think if he was to ever accept his new circumstances.

As if the boy were aware of his thoughts he suddenly shook out of his reverie and began searching the room. Voldemort was surprised it had taken him this long. If he had ever awoken in a strange place as the captive of his nemesis the first thing he would have done would be to access his surroundings. Miraculously and amusingly the boy had yet to notice the ouroboros necklace around his neck which was his true cage much more so than the four walls that surrounded him. 

Voldemort’s fingers scratched along the scaled edges of his matching bracelet. He was desperately tempted to toy with the boys magic. To get a reaction out of him. To make himself known. But he knew it would be counterproductive to his long-term goals. If the boy knew that he had been present for the discussion with Yaxley he would dismiss everything that he had been told as the puppeted words of his master. 

No, the Dark Lord Voldemort could be patient. In time, the boy’s loyalty would belong to him. 

0~0~0

Harry watched dumbstruck as Yaxley swept out of his room as though they were not in the middle of a heated conversation and he had not just made earth shattering accusations that threatened Harry’s world view. Harry knew this wasn’t over. He had no doubt the Healer, Yaxley, would return and make more attempts to sway Harry. The man had suggested that they would be frequently in each other’s company. The man did not seem evil. His motives for joining the Dark Lord, if true, were at least understandable. 

Perhaps with time Harry could gain his trust and enlist his help in escaping. It was really the only hope he had at present. His wand had been left behind at the graveyard. He had no control over his accidental magic, and even if he did he didn’t know the first thing about ward breaking. He had no way of contacting Dumbledore or the Ministry and for all he knew they may have already written him off as dead. Three months was a long time to be missing. Harry couldn’t rely on the hope of being rescued. If he wanted to get out of this mess he was going to have to do it himself. 

Harry mused on what this meant for his behavior going forward. If his most tangible hope of escape was befriending Yaxley than he would need to quell his animosity towards the man for his allegiance to the Dark. Harry would have to at least put on a facade of cooperation if he was to have any hope of extricating himself from this situation. Could he do it? Could he be friendly to a death eater. Could he pretend to be receptive to the man?

Harry wasn’t an idiot. It was obvious enough that Yaxley had been trying to soften Harry to the ideals of the Dark. Whether his representation of the Dark’s goals was accurate remained to be seen, but Harry knew a recruitment pitch when he saw one. He had seen his uncle Vernon wine and dine enough potential clients to spot the nuances of a pitch. 

Harry had mixed feelings about the man’s story. He had never given any thought before to the fact that some branches of magic were illegal. That was just the way it was and naively Harry had never question whether it had always been so. 

Harry had also never given any thought before to whether or not there was a wizarding religion. Though upon this revelation it made sense that wizards wouldn’t subscribe to the main stream religions which called for their damnation. He tried to think of any exceptions, did he have any religious classmates? He thought Anthony Goldstein might have been Jewish, but then realized that he had no basis for assuming that other than his last name.Harry couldn’t think of anyone who had expressed any Christian sentiments. Though he supposed that made sense. Surely any devout Christian family would refuse to allow their child to go off to a boarding school of witchcraft and wizardry.

Though that just made him wonder about Hogwarts rejectors. Did they just continue to do accidental magic throughout their adult lives or did their magic settle when it matured, allowing them to successfully live as muggles? Did the Ministry obliviate families who rejected Hogwarts to protect the Statute of Secrecy. He bet Hermione would know. Somehow having an encyclopedic best friend had drained Harry of this drive to find information for himself. He had never thought to feel curious about these things before. Harry felt ashamed of his own indolence. Four years he had lived in the wizarding world and he knew very little outside of what was spoon fed him by the Hogwarts curriculum. If Yaxley was being honest and the Ministry and Dumbledore truly had censored Hogwarts than Harry had left himself vulnerable to indoctrination and ignorance.

He couldn’t help but sympathize with the injustice that religious practices were carelessly banned by the Ministry’s fumbled attempts to thwart Grindelwald. Were people actually imprisoned for practicing their faith or were their books and artifacts just confiscated or destroyed. He really wished that Yaxley had given him an opportunity to question things. Though he supposed that was likely the point. Yaxley wanted him to come back for more. Wanted him to seek out more information. 

Whether he was being blatantly manipulated or not Harry was troubled by Yaxley’s description of the culling. The notion that the ‘good guys’ could have regularly engaged in such an awful act, that his own father could have been involved… he didn’t want to believe it. Harry had learned about wars during his muggle primary schooling. He wasn’t a stranger to the concept that war was ugly and that neither side walked away with clean hands. Merlin knows Britain’s history was steeped in blood. But somehow Harry had never applied that concept to the wizarding war. He had been happy to believe that his parents had been paragons of virtue and that they had died as martyrs for righteousness. If that was all a lie… Harry shook himself. It was too soon to be taking Yaxley’s words at face value. He would not allow his entire feelings on the war to be reordered by one conversation with a stranger of dubious loyalties. 

Harry could be friendly without being blindly trusting. Harry wasn’t sure he was a good enough actor to pretend he was willing to entertain the idea of joining the Dark Lord, but as the alternative was likely death he was damn well going to try!

With a fresh resolve not to cave into despair Harry decided to assess his situation. Harry, having never been kidnapped before and certainly never have been kept in such luxury before, wasn’t sure what to make of his surroundings. He removed books from the book shelves and lifted candles out of wall sconces all to no prevail. No doors opened, no hidden passages presented themselves, Though on reflection that was hardly surprising. If this was intended to be a prison cell it wouldn’t make sense to have back exits out. Harry did not bother trying the door that Yaxley had exited through, it seemed too obvious and he was worried that it would be cursed should he touch it. 

When the promised meal arrived he ignored it. The elf, Mipsy, stood sentinel beside the table with the dinner tray. Likely she had been ordered to stand by and make sure he ate something. He was not of a mind to do so even if he did feel bad for the house elf, who could hardly be blamed for having such a horrid master. Eventually his hunger made him cave in however. 

After two hours of futilely searching the room for hidden weaknesses, though still not trying the main door, he was finally forced to acknowledge that for the time being at least he was stuck here and starving himself would serve no purpose other than leaving him weak and less able to make a successful escape attempt should the opportunity present itself. He would eat and stay strong, and he would plan for escape. 


	11. Breakfast at Voldemort's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets the new Tom.

Harry didn’t remember falling asleep, but he supposed he must have at some point. Once he had given up on trying to find a hidden escape route it had been a challenge not to give into despair. He had perused the bookshelves for a while. Many of the books actually looked interesting, but he was too anxious with the uncertainty of his situation to read.  He wished he had his broom, and access to the outdoors, flying always cleared his mind and he knew he would need his wits about him if he were going to go through with his plan. 

Now that he was awake he knew he had to get up. Yaxley would likely be visiting again and Harry would hardly make a favorable impression by sleeping into noon and looking rumpled and unshowered. Harry tried not to dwell too long in thinking on what a reversal of circumstances he had undergone that he was now actively trying to procure the good opinion of a death eater. He shunted the thought aside and focused on his objective, making himself presentable. 

Mercifully the room Harry had been given had an attached en suite bathroom. When Harry stripped off the robe that he had been wearing since he had first awoken the day before he finally noticed the metallic snake twined around his neck. It felt surprisingly weightless and comfortable, but Harry was still amazed that he had not noticed it yesterday. He was not prone to wearing jewelry. He stared at his shirtless reflection and wondered what the necklace was for. Not likely anything good. He contemplated trying to remove it, but thought better of it immediately. He did not know what it’s purpose was but it was almost certainly magical and it was very likely that Voldemort would know if he tried to remove it. It wouldn’t do to blow his plans before having even attempted them. If he was going to try to gain Yaxleys assistance in his escape he was going to need to keep below Voldemort’s radar, however unlikely that was. He tried to put it out of his mind but it was a niggling worry that wouldn’t leave him. 

Harry took a long shower and tried to wash away his jitters. He had never been a particularly skilled liar. He knew it would take all of his cunning in the days to come to convince Yaxley to let him out of his rooms. When he re-entered his room a clean set of emerald colored robes had been set out for him. He couldn’t resist the urge to roll his eyes at the not so subtle Slytherin branding that was being pushed on him. Silver snake necklace and emerald robes, come on, was Voldemort trying to convert him to the dark side through fashion? Harry snorted at the idea.

After he threw the robe on he was startled by the unexpected POP of Mipsy directly in front of him.

“I’s being sorrys for scary you sir, but I’s be needing to take you to the dining rooms now.”

“The dining room?”

Mipsy nodded her head vigorously, ears flapping.

“Breakfasts is being served.”

Harry couldn’t believe his luck. Would getting out of his room really be this easy? He didn’t delude himself that he would be able to escape today, but being able to scope out the rest of the house he was being held in was an important first step to formulating any real escape plan. 

Harry obediently followed the little elf out. Harry was surprised at the size of the house. Given the grandeur of his bed chamber he had assumed that he was in some kind of large manor, but the trip down to breakfast was quite literally just him walking down a perfectly normal hallway, down one flight of stairs and then taking a the first left. The ‘dining’ room wasn’t even really it’s own room at all. It was an extension of the kitchen and had a table that could at most seat six people. 

Harry didn’t have long to dwell on the surprisingly modest decor however, because almost as soon as he sat down at the table another person entered the room and sat at the end of the table next to Harry. Seated within easy touching distance and looking at him expectantly was none other than Tom Riddle, just as he remembered him from second year when he had escaped the diary.

“Good morning, Harry.” He greeted, as he began serving food onto his plate as though it were a perfectly normal everyday occurrence to sit and eat breakfast with your sworn enemies.

“Your face.” Was all Harry could think to say. Tom smirked at Harry’s awkwardness. 

“Yes, I have regained my youthful good looks since we last spoke.”

Harry, forgetting his promise to himself that he was going to behave to stay beneath Voldemort’s radar, immediately glared. 

“How lovely for you.” He spat.

Tom seemed to give him a once over.

“You have also greatly improved in looks since he last spoke.” Voldemort replied appreciatively, soundly ignoring Harry’s scathing tone.

Harry blushed. He had noticed his increased height and the way his arms and chest had filled out that morning when he had inspected himself in the shower. Though he was loathe to feel gratitude to Voldemort for anything he did like his improved body. He had always been self-conscious of his scrawniness and of the way he was shorter than even the girls in his year.

“You mean since you kidnapped me!”

“If you like.” Tom replied agreeably. “Though is it really kidnapping if the person you take doesn’t want to go home?” Tom asked smugly.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t want to go with you!”

“Perhaps not. But I rather doubt you wanted to go home either, and since the Light has shown an abominable lack of concern for your abusive home situation I think I can safely say you have been better off here.”

“You’ve been keeping me dosed with the draught of living death, that is hardly what I would call a summer vacation.”

“I have been healing years of abuse and neglect, and protecting you from more of the same.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Out of the goodness of your heart I’m sure.”

“What other reason could I have?” Tom asked challengingly. 

Harry could tell he was being goaded into candidness but he couldn’t help himself. “Obviously you’re trying to get me to side with you.”

“And if I am?”

“You admit it?”

“It would seem to me that a denial in this instance would be extremely counterproductive. Of course I want you on my side. You, by virtue of the cache you gained when you supposedly defeated me, are a significant public figure in our society. Your views and beliefs will hold more weight than those of someone else without your fame. Your voice lent to our cause could bring a peaceful end to this war. If public support were on our side the influence of the ministry would collapse.”

“I’ll never help you. “

“That remains to be seen. “

“You’re awfully cocky.”

“You’re awfully obstinate about your stance in this war considering you didn’t even know what the war was truly about until yesterday.”

“You’re assuming that I believe what I was told yesterday.”

“You have no reason to doubt it. If the lifting of magical restrictions were not my ultimate goal then how would I benefit from have you come out in favor of lifting restrictions.”

“If the Dark Arts were legalized your followers would be able to use them with impunity.”

“You presume that their illegality prevents them from using them at present.”

“If people are using them whether the Ministry outlaws it or not than why does it matter if it stays illegal?”

“People shouldn’t have to live in fear that they will be thrown in Azkaban because they have the audacity to protect their homes and loved ones with blood wards, or because they have blood adopted children into their families, or because they have incorporated soul bonds into their marriage ceremonies, or because they have continued to honor their cultural heritage by observing the seasonal religious rites. While it is true that my followers, who would be arrested if caught regardless of whether or not they practiced the Dark Arts, may flaunt the law there are an  innumerable number of neutral families who live in fear of detection. They have to make the unenviable choice between forsaking magics that are precious to their family or they have to continue using such magics in secrecy with the constant fear of detection and imprisonment hanging over them like a sword of Damocles.”

“If you had that much support you wouldn’t need me.”

“Not everyone is brave enough to stand up for their convictions without the guarantee of victory. The ministry has a powerful armed force of aurors whom they can send out to quell dissent. Most of the British wizarding world has nothing but a subpar defense education with which to protect themselves. It is perhaps more fair to say it is prudence rather than cowardice that keeps them complacent.”

“I can’t see how my opinion would make much of a difference. I’m one person.”

“You are the only known survivor of the Killing Curse and the wizarding world has been propping you up on a pedestal for the past fourteen years. Your voice could bring light to the real oppression our nation is suffering under and can cut through the smoke screen of blood purist nonsense that Dumbledore has convinced everyone the last war was about.”

Harry glared at Voldemort. “If people think that the war was about blood purism it is your fault for torturing and killing muggles and muggleborns.”

Tom quirked an eyebrow. “I assure you I have never wasted my time on such a useless endeavor.

“Then what would you call the Chamber of Secrets. You unleashing the Basilisk and attacking muggleborns can only be described as as the hateful actions of a bigot.”

“Considering my own father was a muggle it would be the height of hypocrisy for me to truly believe in blood purity. Why would I subscribe to a belief system in which I myself would be described as filth and treated as a second class citizen? When I unleashed the basilisk I attacked ‘enemies of the heir’ those who I felt were a danger to my plans or goals or were were aligned with my enemies.”

“You attacked Hermione!”

“Your friend was too smart for her own good. She put my plans to resurrect myself through the diary at risk and even then I did not kill her.”

“You could have.”

“I gave the basilisk strict orders to petrify only. The only person who was to die was the Weasley girl and I considered that a necessary sacrifice.”

“She was only eleven.”

“Her family is in Dumbledore’s pocket. She will no doubt grow into a future enemy.”

“Now who’s culling?” Harry sneered at Voldemort’s obvious hypocrisy. 

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “There is a world of difference between accepting that in a revolution there will be necessary casualties versus purposefully hunting down women of childbearing age and cursing them with infertility to prevent even the chance that they may someday raise children who will grown into political opponents of your cause. My followers have never used eugenics for our cause.”

“You act like your people are saints. Even if what you say is true, which I doubt, and the war truly does have nothing to do with blood purity that doesn’t excuse the crimes your people have committed in the name of revolution. You murdered my parents. You tried to murder a baby. Your people tortured Neville Longbottom’s parents into insanity. What are your excuses for any of that?”

“Your father and the Longbottoms were all members of Dumbledore’s vigilant group the Order of the Phoenix. They were also aurors and proteges of Alastor Moody. Though I can not name all of their innocent victims, since attacks on Dark families were deliberately covert and evidence was swept under the rug by the ministry I have no doubt by virtue of their association with both Moody and Dumbledore that they was involved with the culling. Your mother I tried to spare. In fact I gave her three chances to step aside. I was not as offended by her. Though she was a hypocrite she was at least not a follower of Dumbledore.”

“What do you mean she was a hypocrite?”

“Your mother did not support the banning of magics. She was close friends with one of my followers as a child and as such was more informed of the wizarding world than most muggleborns generally are. Sadly for most muggleborns their only information source is Hogwarts, which is under the control and censorship of Dumbledore. As such they are indoctrinated from a young age into accepting the status quo without question. They are never taught the religious rites which have been part of our culture for thousands of years and as such they do not feel the loss or the oppression of the Ministry’s restrictions. Having grown up in muggle homes they are perfectly satisfied having muggle marriages and do not realize what they are missing out on by not being able to enter into soul bonds. They are accustomed to muggle adoption so they do not resent not being able to make adopted children of their own blood with blood adoption rituals etc etc. Your mother was initiated into the wizard world by a young boy whose mother was from an old pureblood family and who secretly practiced forbidden magics. Thus she was able to see the innocuous applications of the so called Dark Arts and felt the injustice of their banning.”

“My mother never would have joined you!” Harry denied.

“No, she wouldn’t have. In fact she was approached for recruitment three different times and never accepted. Your mother was blinded by the Light’s propaganda. She may have opposed the banning of the Dark Arts but she still refused to align herself with a group that she believed was also motivated by blood purist ideals. It seems my ability to portray the true purpose of my revolution was my greatest failure last time around.”

“You still haven’t explained how my mother was a hypocrite. I don’t think refusing to join either side suffices.”

“Your mother used blood magic to protect you. She used a self-sacrificial blood ritual, a form of human sacrifice, to shield you from harm. For her to engage in what would be considered the Darkest of magics, a human sacrificial ritual, all while being married to a member of the Light’s vigilant group and enjoying the protection of the Light reeks of hypocrisy to me. But I didn’t ask you to join me this morning so that I could insult your mother. For truly I did respect her. It takes extreme strength of character to face death as bravely as she did.” Tom replied in a conciliatory tone. 

Harry was not appeased. “Your respect didn’t stop you from killing her.”

“My respect wasn’t enough to make her step aside. I would have spared her if she did.”

“What kind of mother would just step aside and allow their children to be killed?”

“There are no shortage of parents who would sacrifice their children’s lives to save their own. My own father would have been only too happy to have been rid of my existence.”

Harry frowned at that though he could hardly dispute it not knowing anything of Tom’s father. Instead he asked,  “Why were you so determined to kill me?”

Tom quirked a perfectly groomed eyebrow and smirked. “Has Dumbledore not told you? Why does that not surprise me?” He rolled his eyes. “There was a prophecy, conveniently witnessed by Dumbledore himself, that named you as a threat to me. I was foolish to act on a prophecy without knowing it in its entirety. Divination is very nuanced branch of magic and it is necessary to know prophecies in their entirety to draw any meaningful conclusions about them. Historically it is not a magical branch that I have put much stock in and my experiences when I was with Quirrell combined with the observations of the faithful death eater I have had in place at Hogwarts this past school year have not given me much faith in this supposed seer’s prophetic abilities.”

Harry scoffed. “Why am I not surprised that yet another death eater infiltrated Hogwarts.”

Tom smirked. “Dumbledore does seem to have rather deplorable security considering that Hogwarts is vaunted as the ‘safest place in England. I mean really no less than five death eaters have been on campus in the four years that you have been a student alone and three of those were on staff. One wonders if he is complacent on purpose.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“What better way to make you determined to join his fight against the Dark than to repeatedly put you in situations where you feel threatened by Dark forces.”

“Dumbledore can hardly be blamed for your incessant need to attack me.”

“It was not I who hid the philosopher’s stone in a school filled with children and guarded it with traps obviously designed to be traversable by said children. I did not lure you down there and I can not imagine that you found yourself down there without some source of external prodding. It was Dumbledore’s wish that you and I confront each other during your first year. He clearly wanted to cement our animosity and thus secure your loyalty.”

“He’s not the one who killed my parents.”

“That is debatable. I have it on the authority of the secret keeper himself that it was at Dumbledore’s insistence that the secret keeper be switched from Sirius to Wormtail. Methinks Dumbledore suspected Wormtail’s true loyalties.”

“Dumbledore wouldn’t do that!” Harry protested. 

Tom rolled his eyes at Harry’s naivety. “Believe what you want but the old man is not a saint and I promise you he does not have your well being or your best interests at heart.”

Harry tensed up and clenched his fists. He wanted to protest against everything that Tom was saying. He knew he was being manipulated, but he could suppress the niggling voice in his head that reminded him of all the times that he had asked Dumbledore why Voldemort had come after his family and the man had prevaricated, or every time he had begged not to be sent back to the Dursleys and yet he had been forced back. If his malnourishment could be treated with potions than why had it never been treated at Hogwarts. If his improperly healed bones showed up on diagnostic scans then why had Madame Pomfrey never offered to regrow them? Suddenly feeling vulnerable and confused Harry stood up. Tom grabbed his wrist before he could escape the table. 

“You’ve not eaten breakfast.” Tom stated. Harry attempted to free his arm to no avail. “Sit.” Harry bristled at the command. “The months of nutrition potions will be pointless if you refuse to eat.”

Harry hated to give  in to Tom’s demands but he reminded himself of his resolution from yesterday that starving himself would only make him too weak to escape so he begrudgingly sat back down. Tom smiled and Harry instantly regretted his compliance. Harry expected Tom to make some kind of snarky remark but instead he just said. 

“Try the quiche Lorraine, it is one of Mipsy specialties.”

Harry huffed. There was just something overwhelmingly bizarre about sharing a peaceable breakfast with the man who murdered his parents and Harry was feeling too emotionally exhausted to argue. 

“I don’t want us to be enemies Harry. I have reflected upon our past interactions and I would like to start anew.”

Harry stared at Tom disbelievingly. “You killed my parents.”

“I can’t change that, but the doesn’t have to define our relationship going forward. I believe that we could both benefit from an alliance.”

“I have no interest in joining you.”

“I’m not expecting you to give me an answer today. In fact I would think very little of your resolve if you could be swayed from your allegiances so easily. But you’re not going anywhere. We have plenty of time. I will have endless opportunities to convince you of my righteousness. I ask only that you have an open mind.”

“I will never be a death eater.”

“I’m not asking you to be a death eater.”

“Dumbledore will come for me.”

“The Light will never find you here. That I can promise you.” Harry’s heart sank at that pronouncement. Well it was true that Tom could be lying just to discourage his hope of rescue the ease and surety with which he said that spoke of a real confidence in his words. Once again Harry was reminded that he was a prisoner here. Perhaps a well treated prisoner but a prisoner nonetheless. His stomach soured and he couldn’t eat anymore. 

“I’d like to be excused.” Harry defaulted back to the politeness that was ingrained into him by his childhood with the Dursleys. Tom at last released his wrist, though his fingers lingered in an almost caress as he did so. 

“By all means. No doors will be locked to you here except for those that lead to my study. You have free reign of the house. I will have Mipsy find you when it was time for lunch.” 

Harry’s eyes widened at the oblique reference to future shared meals. Was this going to be a recurring think. Harry didn’t think that Tom’s continued presence was going to much for his appetite. For one ridiculous moment Harry was reminded of Beauty and the Beast, a cartoon movie he had seen bits and pieces of on the telly when he was cleaning at the Dursleys' as a child. Forbidden rooms, obligatory shared meals, strange semi humanoid servants. Harry snorted at the thought that love could make Voldemort less than a monster. 

Unwilling to risk Voldemort changing his mind, and only slightly regretting that he hadn’t been able to eat something before he lost his composure, Harry quickly fled the dining room. 


	12. Mindful of Manipulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry tries to escape Haven House.

Tom couldn’t suppress a smirk as Harry walked away. The boy was an open book. The boy lacked even the most rudimentary mental defences. No doubt Dumbledore enjoyed unimpeded access to the boys thoughts. He wouldn’t put it past the old man to have implanted suggestions in the boy’s mind. The way the boy had found his way to the philosopher's stone and to the chamber of secrets seemed too suspicious to have occurred without external guidance.

He was pleased by the progress he was making. He knew the boy was only behaving with the intent of facilitating a future escape and that he hoped to befriend Yaxley to achieve that end. Voldemort was not discouraged by the fact that the boy still saw him as an enemy. He knew the seed of doubt in the Light had been successfully planted and with time he felt confident that he would continue to degrade the boy’s faith in Dumbledore. He had time. It would be a while yet before Tom would be ready to announce himself to the world again. He was content for the time being to work from the shadows and infiltrate the ministry from within. When he did make his return known it would be with Harry at his side.

He would not repeat the mistakes of the past. He would gain the support of the public. A revolution cannot be successful in the long term without the support of its populace. He was in a much better position now than he had been fourteen years ago. During the last war there had been a competent Minister of Magic and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was ruthless. This time around the Minister was an idiot and both Crouch and Moody had already been neutralized. This time there would be no chosen one to give the Light renewed hope when they began to buckle under the pressure of his attacks.

He wondered how long it would take the boy to test the boundaries of his captivity. How long before he tried to escape? How long it would take him realize that the necklace was holding him in place? He was surprised the boy hadn’t asked about it, but he supposed the boy was still too overwhelmed by everything else. Waking up to learn that three months had passed was enough to disconcert anyone. Waking up to find oneself several inches taller and physically improved even more so. Still Voldemort was some what disappointed. He enjoyed invoking the boy’s defiance, his fiery indignation. The victory of gaining the boy’s allegiance would be so much sweeter in contrast to his initial rebellion.

Before long it was time for the midday meal. He had left Harry in peace, despite his desire to press his advantage and build of the distrust in Dumbledore he had planted during breakfast, but now it was time to recall the boy. A quick order to Mipsy and a few minutes later and the boy was reluctantly trudging back into the kitchen for their next tete a tete.

“You called.” The boy grumbled. His hair was ruffled and there was an indentation on his face. Clearly the boy had been napping.

“Sleeping, were you?”

“Not much else to do around here.”

“There is a library with no less than four thousand books.”

The boy looked up in surprise. “I didn’t think I’d be allowed in the library.”

“Did I not say you had full reign of the house except for my rooms.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take you at your word.” The boy served himself a plate of food, clearly hoping to power through lunch as quickly and with as little conversation as possible.

“Yaxley will be coming to the house later this afternoon. He will be discussing your ongoing treatment with you.” Voldemort changed the subject.

“I thought I was already healthy.”

“Yaxley believes that you would still benefit from a continued vitamin potion regimen, especially while you are still growing. He will also want to begin your eye correction.”

Harry looked up and glared through his glasses. “I’m fine with glasses, thank you.”

“You are not fine. Accio spectacles.” Harry’s glasses flew across the table. “Glasses are an obvious and easily exploitable weakness. If we were duelling right now you would be at a considerable disadvantage now that you can’t see. You could be killed in the time it takes to recover summoned or fallen eyewear. With the number of enemies you have that is not a luxury you can afford.”

“Well since you are my number one enemy and you don’t seem keen on killing me I’m not too worried.”

“You’re a fool if you think you’re safe just because I no longer wish you dead. Believe me when I say the list of people who wish you ill is long and varied. I’m afraid this is non-negotiable. I expect you to cooperate with Yaxley when he comes. Do not test me on this.” He floated Harry’s glasses back over onto Harry’s face wordlessly.

Harry pressed his lips together as though he were biting back a retort, but remained silent clearly deciding to choose his battles. He ate the rest of his meal with an angry gusto and then stormed off without so much as a by your leave.

 

0~0~0

 

A short while later Harry made his first real bid for freedom. Still peeved from his confrontation with Voldemort over his glasses Harry threw caution to the wind and braved the front door. To Harry’s surprise the door opened without any resistance or consequences. Harry was immediately suspicious. He had expected pain, or a barrier, or at least some kind of alarm, but there was nothing. The door just swung open.

The outdoors beckoned him. All around the house were trees. The house appeared to be in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps Voldemort thought the woods would deter Harry from wandering too far. If so he was going to be sorely disappointed. Harry wasn’t afraid of getting lost in the woods. He would infinitely prefer trees to Voldemort’s company. Not wanting to risk discovery Harry shut the door as quietly as he could and made haste into the woods. When he got far enough that the house was obscured from sight by the dense forestry he heaved a sigh of relief. He knew he had a long way to go but he felt free!

His victory was extremely short lived however because with little more than a few extra steps he found himself choking. It was as though a leash were tugging at his neck. He reached up and felt the necklace and knew. There had never been any chance for escape. He tugged at the necklace angrily. He knew it was futile, but he tore at it anyway. Pulling at it until the protective enchantments kicked in and left him violently ill on the forest floor. At that moment he wished that Voldemort had just locked him up. Having the illusion of freedom and then learning that it was a facade felt worse than if he had just known he was caged in the first place.

After twenty minutes of dry heaving Harry had sufficiently regained his equilibrium to the point where he could push himself up off the forest floor. He sulked back into the house and ensconced himself in his room until Mipsy summoned him for his appointment with Yaxley.

Harry didn’t bother arguing about the eye correction potion. He recognized the futility and frankly he was too emotionally exhausted from his failed escape attempt to quibble against something that really, if he was honest with himself, was to his benefit. Especially after Yaxley explained that six months of daily corrective eye drops could improve him to perfect vision he had to admit that the benefits of the procedure outweighed the loss of the superficial connection to his father.

Dinner with Voldemort that night was unbearable. The man made no allusions to Harry’s failed escape attempt, but Harry knew that he knew. The man just seemed to radiate smugness. Harry ate in stubborn silence, refusing to respond to any of Voldemort’s attempts to engage him in conversation. Uncharacteristically Voldemort didn’t force him.


	13. Amortentia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dosing begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a day late. Today is the last day of NaNoWriMo and in my scramble to reach 50k I totally forgot to post even though this chapter has been written for weeks. Sorry.

Tom planned for Harry’s first dosing of Amortentia to coincide with breakfast on the second morning of Harry being awake. After much contemplation, after the unproductive silence of the previous night’s supper, Tom decided that it would be for the best if he wasn’t in attendance when the boy was dosed. The first dosage was so small that it shouldn’t have any dramatic immediate effect, but Tom wasn’t willing to take any chances.

He knew if he was present and the potion did cause an immediately perceptible shift in Harry’s feelings toward himself that the change would be too stark from one minute to the next for Harry to believe that the alteration in his feelings was organic or genuine. In this instance subtlety was key. If the reaction was too instantaneous the boy would smell foul play, and while an awareness that he was being meddled with wouldn’t alter the effects of the potion it would undermine the end goal, which was to nurture legitimate devotion that did not require daily doses of love potion. 

From the memories he had read from his father’s mind before he killed him Tom knew that his mother had dosed his father with a high dosage from the start and had kept him on a high dosage until after they were married and she was pregnant. She had then stopped dosing him suddenly and without any weaning, trusting that his honor and his love for his budding family would keep him bound to her. She was a fool. He would learn from his mother’s mistakes. 

To avoid a similar fate he had ordered Mipsy to give the boy a very small dosage which would be incrementally increased over the course of the next two months. He hoped that precaution would be enough because he knew well enough from his mother’s failed use of amortentia that if Harry ever became aware that he had been controlled with love potion any genuine positive sentiment he may have gain during his dosing would be lost. Tom couldn’t risk that. With the true content of the prophecy still unknown and with the political power that the boy could wield by virtue of his fame Tom couldn’t risk his animosity. Harry was his horcrux, a piece of his own soul, and Tom would have his loyalty no matter what means he had to gain it by. 

Tom entered the dining room for the midday meal with a sense of barely suppressed anticipation. He didn’t know quite what to expect from Harry’s behavior. When he walked in and the boy shot him his typical glare Tom had to withhold a sigh of disappointment. He reminded himself once again, that the change was meant to be subtle. 

“How are you finding Haven House?” Tom asked, testing the waters with uncharacteristic friendliness. 

Harry quirked an eyebrow at his odd question and replied. “Aside from the company and the nausea collar of death I have no complaints.” Harry picked at his food petulantly

“Ah, you’ve noticed the necklace.”

“Yes, funny that, it being on my neck and all.” harry snarked back.

“I apologize for not thinking to warn you of the consequences of attempting to remove it. That was a thoughtless omission.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Tom's assurance.“I’m sure it just slipped your mind.”

“Indeed, I was quite distracted by our conversation.” 

Harry ignored his flirtation and asked. “Why are we doing this? These shared meals. Surely you have better things to do than sit around chatting me up.”

“While I will not deny that I am a busy man, I am still human and even I need to eat. Also there is nothing I consider of greater importance than achieving a better understanding between the two of us. How can I convince you that we need not be enemies if I am not even willing to spend time with you pleading my case.”

“So your plan is to wear me down.” Harry stated with skepticism. 

“You are not unintelligent. I believe that with better information and without Dumbledore and his mindless sheep forcing you to swallow their propaganda you will make the right choice.”

“The right choice of course being your side.” Harry shot him an unimpressed look.

“Naturally.” Tom smirked back.

“You’re awfully confident that I’ll join you.”

“Fourteen years as a formless wraith has taught me patience. I believe in the righteousness of my cause. I know that you aren’t going anywhere and as such I have limitless time to convince you and as such every reason to feel optimistic of my eventually success.”

“And if you never do? What happens if I never join you? Are you going to kill me?” Harry asked in what Tom thought was a very blase tone given the subject matter. Did the boy have no care for his continued existence?

“As I told you in the graveyard. I no longer wish for your death. If you decide against my cause than you will remain here at Haven House until the war is over, my cause is won, and I no longer need your endorsement and even then I will protect you from those who would retaliate against you.”

“You’re the only one I need protecting from.” Harry contradicted. 

“I assure you. That in the scenario that we just painted where you stay here and remain neutral in the oncoming conflict it is not me or my people whom you would need to fear when the war ends. The Light are fickle friends. Look how they turned on Lupin during the first war just because he was a werewolf. Or how they condemned Sirius Black to a hellish lifetime in Azkaban without even allowing him a chance to defend himself. Do you think they will believe that you didn’t abandon them of your own free will? Do you really think they will believe that I put you up in the lap of luxury and allowed you to be neutral? Come now, I know that you’re too smart for that. They will assume that you betrayed them whether you do or not. There is no honor in neutrality and no point in martyrdom. The Light has done nothing for you but abandon you to the hateful care of abusive muggles, ignore your obvious suffering, and blame you for the actions of others and for their own inadequacies. You owe them nothing.”

Harry frowned at this pronouncement but seemed unable to immediately argue against it. Which Tom saw as very positive progress. The boy had been much more volatile before his first dosage of amortentia. Tom looked forward to seeing what the changes of the oncoming days would bring. 

The next morning Tom arrived for breakfast a few minutes late so Mipsy could magic the day's dose of potion into Harry’s drink prior to his arrival. He waited for Mipsy to alert him that Harry had consumed his potion before he entered. This time when Tom walked in the boy did not immediately glare. The boy looked up at him with apprehension rather than loathing. Tom was encouraged. Wariness he could handle. 

“Have you made use of the library yet?” Tom asked.

Harry’s fork stalled mid-way to his mouth. Tom took this as yes and was curious at the boy’s reticence to answer. 

The boy coughed to clear his throat and then took a large swig of pumpkin juice to delay answering. “Yes, the library is... um... extensive.” The boy didn’t elaborate further and though Tom was intrigued at his obvious discomfort he allowed the matter to drop for now. 

“I was wondering if you had given any thought to continuing your education. I’m sure you realize that the new school year has begun. Obviously you will not be returning to Hogwarts.” Here Harry did glare, but Tom continued on as though he didn’t notice. “As you have been to the library I’m sure you have seen that my collection rivals Hogwarts Library in size and I can personally attest that it exceeds Hogwarts Library in quality. If you would like to continue your studies there is no reason you can not do so while at Haven House. I have all of the books that you would need to learn magical theory from and I am prepared to allow you supervised wand use with either myself, Yaxley or Barty for practical work.”

“Who’s Barty?” Harry asked, choosing not to acknowledge the largess of the rest of Tom’s offer.

“Barty is Bartemius Crouch Jr. one of my death eaters. You would know him better as the Mad-Eye Moody who taught you at Hogwarts last year. He was also the one who entered you into the Triwizard tournament and enchanted the Triwizard cup to be a port key. ”

“Moody was an impostor?”

“As I just stated, yes Barty was polyjuicing for the entire year.”

“The missing boomslang!” Harry exclaimed as though this were a great revelation. Then his face fell. “I gave him my map! That bastard!” 

“If it is any consolation he brought your map with him when he left Hogwarts. It is now in my possession. Perhaps if you are well behaved I will let you see it.”

Harry frowned at this pronouncement, but didn’t argue. Progress indeed.

“If I chose to study are you going to force me to learn Dark magic?” Harry asked warily.

“While I think it is a mistake to ignore whole branches of magic about which you know nothing it is not my intent to force you to learn anything. I would recommend that at the very least you study the Hogwarts core subjects, and when I say core I include arithmancy and ancient Runes as neither of those were elective when I was a student.”

“I don’t take arithmancy or ancient Runes.” Harry pointed out.

“Well I don’t have any magical creatures or crystal balls around so it might be time to change your electives.” Tom quipped back.

“Why do I have to study them at all? You just said that you weren’t going to force me to study anything.” Harry accused.

“I said I wasn’t going to force you to learn Dark arts. In truth I’m not going to force you to learn anything. But you would be a fool to ignore arithmancy and ancient runes. Arithmancy is the foundation of spell crafting and is essential for the mastery of any of the other magical disciplines and ancient runes is necessary if you ever want to be able to read uncensored magical texts. Our historic magical practices aren’t written in modern English. The Ministry has aggressively banned the publishing of new books on the old ways and even before the purge it was never wise to trust in the translations of others. For true understanding of ancient texts fluency in runes is essential. Barty could help you with that he is very talented in runes.”

“What if I don’t care about being able to read old books?”

The unimpressed look Tom shot Harry at that ignorant statement spoke volumes. “Runes are also necessary for all but the most basic of warding. If you have any aspirations of escaping this place you will need to learn Runes. That I promise you.”

Harry’s eyes flared at the mention of escape. Tom bit back a smile. The boy was too easy to manipulate. 

“I can procure copies of the fifth year curriculum for you so you know what to study in each of your subjects.” Tom offered. In truth he had no intention of limiting the boy to the pathetic goals Hogwarts set for it’s students. Flamingos into umbrellas, tap dancing pineapples, the Hogwarts curriculum was a joke. Tom would create useful syllabi for each of the classes. Harry would learn how to transfigure practical objects, how to cast useful charms, how to brew necessary life saving potions and how to duel. He would be leagues ahead of his Hogwarts peers. If Lucius was to be believed this year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was particularly pathetic. Wilbur Slinkhard book readings indeed. His horcrux was going to know more about defense than Wilbur Slinkhard had to say on the subject and if a few darker curses were slipped into the non-standard curriculum than Harry didn’t have to know. 

On the off chance the boy questioned the syllabi Tom could just point out that it was an OWL year and the standards and expectations were higher than in the past. Tom’s musings were interrupted.

“What about potions?”

“I was given to understand that you didn’t like potions.”

“I don’t like Snape. He is a terrible teacher, but that doesn’t mean I dislike the subject and even if I didn’t dislike the subject I still need to learn it. It is one of the core classes and most professions require at least an OWL in it.”

“Don’t misunderstand me. I am by no means attempting to discourage your interest in the subject. You merely surprised me. I thought that it would take some convincing on my part to sway you to recognize the necessity of resuming potions. I didn’t think you would volunteer. There is a potions lab in the basement. Both Barty and Yaxley are adept at potions and either could tutor you as needed.”

Harry seemed to accept this explanation. “I suppose you think I should thank you.”

Tom smirked. “I know you well enough not to expect gratitude at this point. No doubt you blame me for the disruption of your education and you’re not wrong to do so. But I assure you you will be better off with Barty and Yaxley than you would be at Hogwarts. I guarantee it. Without idiots or underachieving friends to hold you back…” Tom let his meaning drift off. 

Tom, by virtue of having spent an entire school year on the back of Quirrell's head was well aware of the wide variation in ability that existed between students. He was also aware that Harry held himself back so as not to outshine his slacker friend Ronald Weasley. Tom would push him to achieve as the Hogwarts professors had failed to do. 

With little more to say on the subject, and feeling very well about the progress two days of amortentia had wrought, Tom excused himself from the dining room. He had syllabi to write. 


	14. The Library

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry learns the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for suicidal ideation and attempted suicide. This will likely be the darkest chapter in this entire story.

After yet another confusing meal with Voldemort Harry made his way back to the library. He blushed just remembering his reaction to Voldemort’s innocuous question of whether or not he had yet seen the library. He doubted that Voldemort had any idea what he had been doing there immediately before dinner. He returned to the secluded corner that he had hidden away in before and resumed reading through his texts. 

After his failed escape attempt and his discovery that his collar somehow tethered him to the house Harry had decided to take advantage of his free access to the library to research his collar. Sadly, libraries were not exactly indexed for such queries and as a result the pile of books before him was a wide array of texts from multiple branches of magic that Harry had grabbed because at a quick glance they seemed to include enchanted objects. 

His reason for blushing was the book he had been reading immediately before he joined Voldemort in the dining room. It seemed that amongst his varied mix of books he had somehow gotten his hands on a book of sex magic and enchanted objects of a related nature. This was embarrassing both because sex magic was not at all what he had intended to look up, in point of fact prior to that day he hadn’t even known that sex magic was a thing, and that thus far something that he found in said sex book was the closest thing he had yet found to his own situation. The book, amongst a myriad other kinky and questionable magical devices, had included sexual bondage collars. Which while seemingly working differently and having different purposes than his own collar were similar enough to make Harry blush upon remembrance. 

Choosing to set aside that work, because whatever Voldemort’s intentions may be Harry seriously doubted that his life had been spared due to Voldemort fancing him, and instead picked up the next book in the stack. This book was thick and aged looking and gave off a malicious vibe that made Harry shiver involuntarily. He cracked the book open and immediately realized that this was a book detailing the creation of devices of a much more sinister nature than the last. 

He resisted the urge to close the book and move on. For all he knew the collar could be of a sinister nature. He did not yet know all it was capable of and it could very well have dark as yet undisclosed powers. Harry pressed on and read through detailed instructions for the crafting of cursed amulets that caused rapid necrosis upon contact, rings that could detect poison (this latter one didn’t sound immediately ominous until he read the horrify list of ritual ingredients which included among other horrors heart of a unicorn, children’s tears, and virginal blood forcibly taken), objects that were enchanted to act as vessels for the intentionally fragmented souls of those willing to commit acts of evil for the sake of immortality. 

Harry very nearly passed this last one over as he was growing weary of the books gruesome descriptions and was increasingly convinced that this book was unlikely to shed any light onto the origins or purpose of his collar. But then he saw it. One word, one horrifying yet enlightening word, HORCRUX. Harry stomach plummeted and he became short of breath. He regretted that he had eaten so recently, for he felt sure that it was all going to come back up. HORCRUX. 

He remembered the graveyard. He remembered the way Voldemort had treated him. The way Voldemort had acted when he first walked out of the cauldron. He remembered the certainty that he had felt of his impending death. He remembered how Voldemort had reacted to his use of parseltongue and how he had gone impossibly paler at Harry’s flippant explanation that he had gotten the power from Voldemort himself. He remembered how Voldemort had torn through his mind and the flashes of memories that he had lingered over. 

Dumbledore knew. Dumbledore knew that Harry was a horcrux and he had never told him. Harry stifled a wave a bitterness. Dumbledore withholding information was hardly a new development and was hardly the most important consideration in this instance. Voldemort’s reaction was far more important.

‘Death will never touch you my precious horcrux.’ He had said. It all made sense now. Harry had wondered at Voldemort’s rapid turn about, about his strangely accommodating behavior, and the lengths that he had gone to ensure that harry was in good health. 

‘It figures that the first time anyone shows any interest in my health or well being it isn’t even for my own sake.’ Harry thought, this time unable to quell his bitterness. This revelation did allow him to see his past neglect through a different lens. Ever since Voldemort had pointed out the Light’s failure to care for him and their neglect in healing him the idea had niggled at the back of Harry’s mind. If healing malnourishment were possible why didn’t Dumbledore have had his obvious child abuse treated? If Dumbledore had known all along that Harry was a horcrux perhaps that was the answer. 

A witch or wizard could never die so long as they had a horcrux to tether their soul to the land of the living. As long as Harry lived Voldemort could never die. ‘Death will never touch you my precious horcrux.’ Voldemort’s words echoed in Harry’s head. 

Harry swallowed a sob. He had to die. Everyone who cared about him, everyone he cared about, they would all die if he didn’t. This was a war and he didn’t delude himself that Voldemort would spare his friends, not if they took up arms against him. Which Harry knew they would. Everyone he cared about was on Dumbledore’s side. Would they want him to die if they knew? Is that why Dumbledore was keeping his status a secret. Was Dumbledore just sparing him until Voldemort made his return. 

Voldemort was back now. Would Harry even be safe if he went back. At the thought of being killed by Dumbledore another sob bubbled up in his chest. He would rather die by his own hand than be killed by those he cared about. He didn’t want to think about whether or not they would. This was a war, his life wasn’t worth more than anyone else’s, if he was what stood between the Light and the death of Voldemort he didn’t doubt for a moment that someone would step up to the plate and end him. He didn’t need his blood on anyone else's hands.

Harry stood up and walked out of the library as if in a trance. He didn’t even bother to put the books away. Mipsy would take care of it. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. He was never going to escape Haven House. He was never going to live to see his friends again. But his death wouldn’t be for nothing. He wouldn’t allow Voldemort to lock him up in a gilded cage for all eternity and use Harry’s continued existence to safeguard his own immortality. Harry’s parents hadn’t died fighting Voldemort only to have their son ensure his victory. He would make his parent proud. He would do what was right. What was necessary. 

Without having taken any notice of his surroundings Harry found himself back in his room. There was an uncanny silence about the room, as if it too were waiting with baited breath for what would happen next. 

Harry was struck with the suddenness of it all. Never before had he ever contemplated suicide. Not as a child when he was bullied by his peers, not when his aunt and uncle locked him away in his cupboard without food, not on any of the occasions when the Hogwarts populace had ostracized him. He hadn’t given much thought to his own death. What little thought he had given had always been the assumption that he would die at Voldemort’s hands. It was ironic that he would be dying by his own hands to spite Voldemort. 

There were no weapons immediately apparent in his room. No ornate swords decorating the walls, or decorative letter openers, or even razors for shaving. Harry had to actually exert himself for a few minutes and set aside his suffocating self-pity to find a suitable means to end himself. 

Finally his eyes settled on the gilded mirror that hung above his dresser. It was large and heavier than he anticipated. He almost dropped it on the way to his bed. His hands were shaking. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the task at hand only. The mirror needed to be broken and it needed to be broken quietly so as to avoid detection. He grabbed two pillows from the head of his bed. He put the mirror inside the pillowcase of one and place the second pillow on top to muffle any sound of breakage. Harry heaved the bedside lamp above his head and smashed it down with as much force as he could muster. The pillows did their job admirably as Harry heard only the slight muted clink of breaking glass. He carefully extracted a broken shard from the bottom pillow case. It was jagged and about the length of his forearm. Harry stared at it in fascination for  several moments. Watching his partial reflection shine back on him. ‘A fragment just like me.’

Harry walked away from the bed, careful still not to cut himself. ‘Not yet, not here.’ Harry didn’t want to die in the bedroom. He didn’t want to die at all. He imagined Mipsy mopping up his blood from the floor. Would Mipsy even survive Voldemort’s rage? For surely Mipsy would be the one to find him. Now that he was no longer in a magical coma no one else had any reason to go into his rooms. He didn’t want Mipsy to suffer for his choices. Mipsy was already a slave to the Dark Lord. Harry would go outside. Voldemort or Nagini would more likely be the ones to find him there.

‘No mess no fuss, the ground would absorb his blood.’ Voldemort would no doubt still be enraged, but that could hardly be avoided. 

Harry was struck by his own morbid manners. Even in death he wished to avoid inconvenience for others. He almost smiled, but then he remembered his purpose and any humor vanished in the face of what he needed to do. 

He quibbled for a moment about how he would hide a giant broken shard of glass while walking through the house and eventually resolved on tucking it up the sleeves of his robes. He had to clench the end of his sleeve closed with his hand, but it would have to do. He prayed he wouldn’t be caught on the way out because Voldemort or even Yaxley were sure to find the way he was clasping his robe closed suspicious. He put it out of his mind. It would work. It had to. 

The coolness of the mirror shard against his bare forearm was a constant reminder of what awaited him outside. He traversed the house as quickly as he could without drawing undue attention. When he reached the front door he withheld a sigh, whether it was of relief or of disappointment he chose not to analyze. Once outside he hastened back to the same copse of trees that he had escaped into before, careful this time not to go so far as to trigger the protections on his collar. 

The woods were full of the sounds of nature, birds chirping to one another, squirrels chittering, wind billowing through the summer leaves. Everything was so normal it was easy to lose himself momentarily in the ordinariness of it. But no, there could be no delay. Harry didn’t delude himself into thinking he was wholly unsupervised. He was sure that Voldemort must have him occasionally checked up on. It wouldn’t do to delay and miss his chance. If he failed now he was sure that Voldemort would put other more stringent protections in place and that he would never have another chance. 

He slipped the mirror out of his sleeve, careful not to nick himself. Why he was bothering he did not know. He would be bleeding freely soon enough. He swallowed thickly, staring at his reflection once more. His face had gone pale and he could see the fear in his own eyes. He hoped he was doing the right thing. Would his parents understand? Would they forgive him for wasting their sacrifice? Would they agree that he needed to die? So many questions. No answers. He felt sure that Dumbledore would agree. Again the bitterness rose up unbidden. Dumbledore knew and had done nothing. 

Harry clenched his fist involuntarily, the jagged glass dug into his fingertips drawing first blood. He watched in flow along the edge of the glass in morbid fascination snapping to attention when the first drop splashed onto the ground. He lifted the shard shakily and lined it up with his left forearm. One fast slash, like pulling off a band-aid.

The pain wasn’t so bad. Not really. Not much worse than when Wormtail had cut him in the graveyard in any case. He pressed harder and the blood flowed branching like down his wrist and to the tips of his finger. He dropped the shard to the ground. His hand was slick with his own blood and the damage was already done. Now he just needed to wait.

He leaned against an accommodating tree trunk and let himself slide slowly to the ground. Now that he was no longer actively cutting himself the pain was much less, more like a persistent throbbing than anything else. He wondered how long it would take before he passed out. He was already feeling a bit light headed so maybe not too long. 

‘Do you dream when you pass out?’ He wondered. It was weird to realize that he would never wake up again. He allowed himself another moment of self-pity. He had done what was necessary, but it was hard to feel any satisfaction in the act. He was the one suffering. The one who would die. The one who would never see his friends again. 

Harry felt cold and very alone all of a sudden. The sounds of the forest were no longer comforting or even distracting. He was afraid. Black spots were starting to mar his vision and he was feeling more than a little dizzy. In fact if it weren’t for the tree he wasn’t sure he had the strength to stay upright. 

“Not long now, surely.” He tried to comfort himself, but it wasn’t a comfort. He didn’t want to die. Why did he have to die? Why was he the one who always had to sacrifice everything and get nothing in return?

Suddenly this whole enterprise felt very rash and foolish and ill thought out. Harry tried to stand but his feet wouldn’t hold his weight and he collapsed back onto the ground. His glasses fell off his face in the shuffle. He grasped around with his good arm frantically searching for them. He knew he wouldn’t be able to find his way back out of the forest if he couldn’t see. But his effort was for nought. 

As the black spots filled his vision Harry’s fear gave into despair. 


	15. Death will never touch you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom finds Harry in the forest.

Tom was feeling annoyingly antsy. Harry’s odd behavior at lunch kept running through his head. What had that boy been getting up to in the library that made him blush so? He was sure he could circumspectly peek into the boy’s mind and see without being detected, after all the boy had no occlumency shields. Setting aside the report he had been ignoring for the past half hour Tom rose from his desk and made his way down to the library. With any luck he would catch the boy in the act. 

Tom was disappointed to find the library empty, but his curiosity was piqued when he noticed a haphazard pile of books stacked on one of the corner tables in the back of the room. He would have to talk to the boy about the proper treatment of books. He smirked in amusement when he noticed the manual on ritual sex devices and felt that was a clue to the boy’s lunch time embarrassment. He sifted through the rest of the selection of books finally landing on one the boy had left open. His heart stopped when he noticed the content of the page the book had been left open to. HORCRUXES. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wanting to kick himself for his carelessness in mentioning that word to the boy in the graveyard. So few books discussed Horcruxes. Even in his own extensive collection he had only three books that even mentioned the word Horcrux. Of course the boy would stumble across one of those books on his very first purview of the library. Harry Potter had an uncanny knack for making his life difficult. 

He swept out of the library and made his way up the stairs to the boy’s room mentally weighing the benefits of obliviating the boy versus honesty. On the one hand obliviation was both easier and more immediately effective, but on the other hand… He wanted to secure the boy’s trust. If the boy ever discovered he was obliviated, which he very likely would if he were ever taught occlumency in the future, it could destroy any trust or rapport he built with the boy by then. Tom released a frustrated sigh. Honesty it would have to be. 

When Tom reached Harry’s bedroom and it too was empty he became concerned. This was not a very large house and there was very few places that Harry would be. 

“Mipsy!” He called out. 

POP! Mipsy appeared before him. “Master is be calling Mipsy?”

“Where is the boy?” Tom barked. Mipsy shivered at her master’s scathing tone. 

“Mipsy is not be seeings Mr. Potter since lunch time. Is Master wanting Mipsy to finds him?”

“Yes, Master is wanting you to find him!” Tom spat back, honestly as useful as house elves were sometimes he really couldn’t stand them. Their infantile speech patterns were grating at the best of times and rage inducing during times of crisis. Not waiting for Mipsy to ask any more inane questions Tom stormed off to begin his own search for the boy. He knew that the collar would keep Harry from going too far, but he felt very unsettled not knowing where the boy was, especially given the boys revelation about horcruxes. Not for the first time Tom wondered if he really might have been better off just leaving the boy in stasis until the end of the war. 

Tom’s search of the first floor was not fruitful. There was no sign of the boy anywhere. Tom made his way outside figuring it more likely that the boy would want fresh air than that the boy would want to hang out in the basement. The house really did not have much in the way of entertainment. 

The air was unusually cool for a late summer day. Fall was coming. Tom suppressed a shiver as he made his way into the woods. Why the boy couldn’t throw a tantrum indoors he didn’t understand. Maybe he needed to tweak the range allowed by the collar or embed some sort of tracking feature. When he finally found the boy his first thought was that the boy was asleep. Harry looked so restful with his eyes closed and his arm draped across his chest. But then Tom noticed the blood. The boy’s robe was saturated in it. Tom hadn’t noticed at first because the dark collar of the robe masked the red of the blood, but the dark color couldn’t hide the sheen of wetness. 

Tom knelt down beside the boy on the blood soaked grass.

“Mipsy!” POP “Get me three vials of blood replenishing potions, NOW!” He ordered before Mipsy could say anything. She disappeared with POP and reappeared with three red potions just as fast, but Tom paid her no heed his attention was fully absorbed by the boy in front of him. 

Harry’s wrist was chilled but Tom could still feel a feeble pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips. He began chanting “ Vulnera sanentur vulnera sanentur vulnera sanentur vulnera sanentur vulnera sanentur vulnera sanentur.” The wound closed up obediently but the pulse remained weak and the boy remained deathly pale. Tom forced open the boys lips and poured the three blood replenishing potions into his mouth, massaging his throat to force him to swallow. 

“You will not die!” He ordered. The boy remained unconscious but as the minutes passed his pulse strengthened and some color returned to his cheeks. Tom lifted him off the ground and carried him back to the house. Despite the months of nutrition potions the boy was still light. 

Harry began stirring as the ascent up the stairs jostled him, but he didn’t wake. He nestled into the crook of Tom’s neck. 

“You will be the death of me.” Tom muttered. Harry slept on. 

Tom kept vigil beside Harry not willing to risk Harry waking and making any more ill fated attempts on his life.

Tom didn’t like how he felt. That he felt angry went without saying. How dare the boy risk his soul fragment! But Tom also felt a confusing niggle of concern? He brutally quashed it. He would not worry himself over a boy who had no care for his own self preservation. He would worry for himself and his soul. Reabsorbing soul fragments was an uncomfortable process and not one he was keen on suffering again anytime soon. 

He glared down at his slumbering rival. He knew it was too soon to expect miracles from the amortentia. The dosage was infinismal at this point, but still it chafed that the boy would go this far. He had been kind. He had provided comfortable rooms and clothes, access to his library (an honor most of his death eaters would drool over), quality food, the dedicated care of his most trusted healer. He had been very generous in his treatment. This felt like he was being spit in the face for his kindness. He clenched his fingernails into his palm and released a frustrated sigh. 

He would need to handle this carefully when the boy woke. He would need to take precautions to prevent any future attempts, but he also couldn’t risk being too tyrannical. He needed to focus on the big picture and his long term goals for the boy. The amortentia would sway the boy with time. Tom just needed to prevent the boy from doing anything rash in the interim. 

He could never be alone. He could not be trusted alone.

Tom reached out and grabbed Harry’s wrist. The steady tattoo of the boy’s heart beat helped calm him. All would be well. The boy was fine. This would not happen again. 

“You are more trouble than you are worth, do you know that?” He asked rhetorically. 

Tom’s thumb absentmindedly caressed Harry’s wrist. Harry’s eyelashes fluttered.

“Madame Pomfrey?” Harry muttered in obvious confusion. 

Tom released the wrist and pick up the boy’s glasses which he had set on the night stand and set them on Harry’s nose.  Harry blinked rapidly as if his eyes were dry.

“Voldemort?” He asked, voice still heaven leaden with sleep and confusion. 

“What did I say in the graveyard, Harry?” Tom asked in a deceptively mild tone. 

“Hmm?” Harry was still obviously confused by how he had gotten in his room and why Tom was hovering over him.

Tom smiled grimly. “I told you that death would never touch you.” Tom snatched up the wrist that Harry had slashed and inspected the now unblemished skin. 

“It would seem that you did not take my words seriously. Allow me to be very clear on this. I will not tolerate any further attempts on your life.”

Harry scoffed as awareness swiftly returned to him. “Because I’m your horcrux. Because I am what stands between you and death! Well I won’t I won’t be a pawn in this war. I won’t be a tool for your victory. I know what’s right!”

“You are a fool if you think that you have not been a pawn or tool thus far and even more so if you think you are all that stands between me and obliteration. I will not deny that you are a horcrux. The cat is out of that bag. But think for a minute. Do you believe it likely that I intentionally made you into a horcrux? Would it have been sensible for me to have purposefully placed a shard of my soul in the body of an infant whose parents I had just murdered? Do be serious. You are not the first horcrux I have made. I have many. A fact that is as yet unknown to the Light. Thus your death would achieve nothing. Not only would I still be immortal, but you would lose the chance to inform the Light of what I have just told you. If the light doesn’t know that I have other horcruxes than what hope will they ever have of destroying me? By killing yourself your are dooming them to certain failure. Consider that next time you get the urge for pointless martyrdom.” 

Harry tensed in horror at this pronouncement. “You have more horcruxes?” Was all he could manage to say.

“Many.”

A look of epiphany crossed the boy’s eyes. “The diary!”

“Yes, the diary was my first. Though not my last by any means.”

Harry looked smug for a moment. “I destroyed it.”

Tom grimaced. “I am aware. However don’t feel too cocky. I have since reincorporated that soul piece into myself. Surely you’ve wondered at my change in appearance.”

“But I destroyed it!”

“You destroyed the vessel. You cannot destroy a soul. It is not a tangible thing. But enough about the intricacies of soul magic. I haven’t the patience for academic discourse at present. You have disappointed me Harry. I have been very generous with you. I have given you space and time to acclimatize yourself to your new situation. I have given you privacy. You have abused my good-will. As such you will lose the privilege of alone time. Until I feel confident that you have accepted your place here at Haven House you will never be alone. You will be supervised at all times. Am I understood?”

“You’re going to have people keep guard while I sleep?” Harry asked aghast.

“You have lost the luxury of your own room. Until I feel you can be trusted to treat your life with the value that it deserves you will reside in my room.”

“I can’t… you can’t be serious! I thought your room was forbidden.”

“You will not be allowed access to my room when I am not there, but as you will only need it to sleep, shower, and dress I do not believe there will be an issue.”

“You don’t see an issue? I can’t sleep in the same room as you!”

“And why is that?”

“You killed my parents!”

“That excuse is wearing rather thin Harry. I think we can both agree at this point that you are a far greater threat to yourself than I am and I’m afraid that these terms are not negotiable. I will not ask my death eaters to stand vigil over you at night, they too need sleep and I have far more productive uses for their waking hours.”

“What about you? You need sleep.”

“Who says I won’t be sleeping?” Tom asked with obvious amusement at Harry's discomfort. 

“If you’re asleep you’ll hardly be an effective guard.”

“You would not be so foolish as to try anything with me sleeping beside you. I am a light sleeper.” Tom retorted. 

“I’m not sharing a bed with you.” Harry stammered. 

“My room has only one bed and I’m hardly going to redecorate for your comfort.”

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll do something?” Harry asked. Tom smirked at Harry’s choice of words and Harry blushed. “I could hurt you, kill you even, while you’re asleep.”

“I’m not concerned for my safety. You will not hurt me.” 

“You underestimate me.” 

“To the contrary I have every respect for your abilities I just have a higher respect for my own. Now go take a shower and change your robes. You are covered in dried blood. Then I will escort you down to supper.”

“You’ll grow tired of this.” 

“Undoubtedly, but you will live and my victory in preventing your demise will surely triumph over any sense of tedium you cause me. Now hurry along before our dinner gets cold.”

Tom watched fondly as Harry petulantly stalked off to the bathroom. 


	16. In bed with the enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry has to adapt to his new sleeping arrangements.

Harry was surprised but relieved that Voldemort had not followed him into the bathroom. He had taken the ominous pronouncement that he would never be unsupervised at face value. Though just in case Voldemort changed his mind and followed through on such a threat Harry showered and changed into clean clothes as quickly as he could. The irony that he was purposefully rushing back into Voldemort’s company was not lost on him. 

When Harry reentered the bedroom Voldemort was waiting for him. Harry bit back his annoyance at Voldemort’s obvious amusement. 

“I do believe dinner is served.”

Harry followed him sulkily out of the room.

“I’m surprised that you let me use the bathroom alone.”

“Oh you weren’t unsupervised. My spies are everywhere.” To prove his point he stopped in the hallway and turned to face one of the landscape paintings hung on the wall. 

“What are your orders?”  Voldemort addressed the painting. A small green snake slithered out from the high grasses and into the foreground of the painting. The little snake replied, 

“To watch the little one and alert you if he is harmed.”

“Very good.”  Voldemort commended the snake and then turning to Harry added in English. “You see? I had these installed earlier while you were unconscious. These snake paintings are in every room. You will always be watched in Haven House.”

“If you have snake spies then why do we have to share a room?”

“It is dark at night and I can’t trust you not to take advantage of the cover blanket offers to harm yourself.”

“I’m not going to try to kill myself again. You’ve already established that it would be pointless.”

“I’m gratified to hear that. However, I didn’t get to where I am not by not exercising caution. I don’t trust you. Actions speak loudly than words and today you tried to end yourself in my woods. If you are ever to be allowed your own room again you will need to regain my trust. I wish you luck in that endeavor.”

“You can’t seriously mean to share a room with me. Surely you want privacy.”

“I want many things in this life. Your presence will deny me none of those things.”

With that cryptic remark Voldemort waltzed into the dining room and took his seat at the head of the table as always. Harry was childishly tempted to sit in the seat at the farthest end of the table, but as the only other place setting was next to Voldemort and as it had been such a long and emotionally straining day Harry found that he just didn’t have the energy for insubordination at present. 

“I have finished procuring the syllabi for your studies. Barty will be coming by tomorrow to work with you on arithmancy, ancient runes, history of magic, and duelling. He will alternate tutoring days with Yaxley who will be in charge of teaching you potions, theoretical herbology, charms and transfiguration.”

“And I have no say in the matter?”

“I thought we had already discussed this. I hope you will not be ungracious towards my followers. They are sacrificing no small amount of time and energy purely for your benefit. It would be very rude of you to reject their generosity.”

“I agreed that I would continue my studies. I had intended to do so on my own.”

“You won’t make nearly so much progress without competent tutors. It will take you twice as long to learn a fraction as much. Do not be a fool.”

Harry sighed heavily, again finding himself too exhausted to fight, perhaps a result of his blood loss?

‘Well at least being exhausted will help me sleep.’ Harry hoped as he nervously finished his dinner.

It didn’t. 

In fact each anxiety ridden step back towards the bedroom seemed to wake Harry up. By the time they reached their room, and what a weird concept that was, he was a nervous wreck. 

Going to bed that night was one of the singularly most uncomfortable occasions of Harry’s life. First Voldemort had nonchalantly disrobed right in front of him. Which would have been awkward enough without him watching Harry as he did so. 

When Harry had grabbed the pajamas Mipsy had lain out for him and began to make his way to the bathroom to change Voldemort had shot him such a challenging look that he had frozen in place. Harry had changed in front of other people before. He shared a dorm with four other teenage boys and he was a member of the quidditch team. Hell, locker room showers were completely exposed. But, none of those experiences prepared him for undressing in front of Voldemort. 

Harry was too proud to ignore the silent challenge, but that didn’t make him blush any less. The way Voldemort’s eyes lingered appreciatively on him didn’t help. Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with that man? 

‘He’s just trying to unsettle me.’ Harry reassured himself as he through on his silken pajamas at record speed. The pajamas were another ode to Slytherin house, emerald green silk with silver snakes embroidered at the hems. Harry couldn’t even be bothered to care. He was just glad it covered up his nakedness. 

“Which side?” Voldemort asked, pulling Harry out of his mortified reverie. 

“Excuse me?”

“Which side of the bed do you prefer to sleep on? I have no preference.”

Harry blushed again at the reference to their shared sleeping arrangement. 

“Er… no preference. I mean I guess the left side. I prefer to be closer to the bathroom. I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes.” No point mentioning that when he was growing up at the Dursleys’ the middle of the night was the only time he was able to make leisurely use of bathroom facilities. Fucking Dursleys. 

Voldemort made no comment and easily acquiesced by pulling back the covers on the right side of the bed and slipping under the sheets. It was strangely domestic. Harry gulped and forced himself to join him. No point awkwardly loitering. 

The sheets were silky soft, Harry was beginning to see a pattern here, and the bed was without question the most comfortable he had ever lain on. These comforts were practically unnoticed by Harry however, as he was far too more entranced by the soft sounds of breathing and the radiant warmth of his bed partner.  

Harry lay stock still and stared up at the ceiling praying for the sweet embrace of unconsciousness. He wanted it to be morning already. 

“Sweet dreams Harry.” Voldemort hissed. Harry made no reply.

Harry wasn’t sure at what point in the wee hours of the morning his body had finally given into exhaustion but when he was woken the next morning he wasn’t near rested enough.

“Sleep well?” Voldemort asked with a smirk that Harry wanted to smack off his stupid smug face. Harry glared and said nothing as he loaded his plate for breakfast. At least he would have energy from food. As always at Haven House the breakfast spread was lavish and extravagant for two people. The variety of dishes rivaled a Hogwarts offering. ‘So wasteful.’ Harry took a little of everything and refused to look at Voldemort, who he knew somehow, was watching him with amusement. 

That was another thing Harry hated about this situation. What did Voldemort have to be so damned amused about. Always watching and grinning smugly. Harry had averted his eyes that morning as they changed clothes before breakfast but he knew that Voldemort had not extended the same courtesy, he had felt his ruby eyes burning through him and it had taken all of his self control not to fidget under the weight of his stare. Voldemort seemed to bask in Harry’s discomfort. 

Harry kept his eyes on his plate as he ate, preferring to ignore Voldemort, who he knew was still watching him. Voldemort, unfortunately, was less inclined to allow himself to be ignored.

“I hope the food is too your liking. I asked Mipsy to replicate the recipes and varieties generally offered by Hogwarts, though obviously on a smaller scale. It is my hope that in time you will feel comfortable here. I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.” At this pronouncement Harry couldn’t help but look up.  As his eye’s met Voldemort’s ruby ones his stomach fluttered. 

Harry brutally suppressed the bizarre momentary flare by refocusing back on Voldemort’s words.

“You may prefer to play act and pretend that I am your guest rather than your prisoner but it hardly changes the truth.” Harry fingered the ouroboros collar around his neck. “You’ve shackled me he just as surely as if you had put me in chains. While the accommodations may be preferable to the squalor of a damp cold dungeon cell you can hardly expect my feelings toward my forcible detainment to be favorable.”

Voldemort set down his fork and looked intently at Harry. “You will be granted opportunities here that you could never hope to achieve elsewhere. I have granted you use of two of my most gifted followers to assist in your magical education as well as given you access to library which contains tomes of magic from all around the world and is full of rare one of a kind gems whose information you would be hard pressed to find elsewhere. On top of all of that, as though those advantages were not enough to warrant your gratitude, I have also offered myself. My time, my attention, and decades of accumulated wisdom and knowledge of some of the most obscure branches of magic. All of this I would happily share with you if you could but accept your circumstance and embrace the turn your life has taken. You are my horcrux. Never again will you be a lapdog for the light or a figurehead for a Ministry that doesn’t give a damn about your well being. You will be safe and any efforts you may in the future choose to expend for the benefit of the Dark would be acknowledged and appreciated. I am asking nothing of you now except that you try to have an open mind. Try to consider what I offer to you as compared to what the Light expects from you without offering anything in return. Has the Light ever given you a permanent comfortable home in which you can feel safe and you can feel certain of regular meals and creature comforts? Has the Light ever addressed or attempted to remedy your obvious symptoms of child abuse? Has the Light ever offered you special training or exclusive access to magical knowledge for your betterment?” When Voldemort’s speech was met with silence he added, “I thought not. Consider what I offer you before you spit in the face of my civilities. Now today is a busy day for both of us. I need to leave Haven House. I intend to go to headquarters and meet with several of my followers who are in strategic placements at the Ministry. You will be having your first lesson with Barty. I am confident the two of you will get along very well. After all you studied under him all last year without incident.”

Harry, who had stopped eating as he absorbed Voldemort’s speech finally lifted his food laden fork up to his mouth. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the things that Voldemort had said and didn’t trust himself to respond reasonably to either his offer or his information. While Harry didn’t think it likely that any amount of creature comforts would lessen his resentment towards Voldemort he couldn’t ignore the pang he felt every time Voldemort expounded upon all of the ways that the Light had failed him. 

Those failures had been weighing heavily on him ever since he had woken up from his magical coma. Knowing that they could have and should have healed him but for some unfathomable reason had decided not to made him feel in turns wary and betrayed. Nevermind the frustration he felt at their failure to protect him from Voldemort in the first place. 

If Hogwarts had any proper means of expelling death eaters Barty would never have been able to confund the triwizard cup into forcing Harry’s participation and Harry wouldn’t be here. Barring that possibility Dumbledore and the Ministry could have exercised common sense and not reinstated the tournament in the first place. What kind of sick school or messed up government thinks it is a good idea to host a school extracurricular event with a long bloody history of killing students?  

Harry commented on none of these doubts however. He wouldn’t give Voldemort the satisfaction of knowing that his words were having any effect on Harry or that his faith in the infallibility of the Light was wavering. 

When it became clear that Harry had no intention of contribution to their conversation Voldemort took his leave and left Harry to enjoy the rest of his breakfast undisturbed excepted for the quiet presence of Mipsy who stood as his silent sentinel. Never unsupervised indeed. 


	17. Lesson Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets schooled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, I don't like this chapter. It's not terrible but it's like my least favorite thing I've written. But my lack of desire to post it has prevented me from posting for like nearly three months and I'd like to get moving on this story again so here goes. I promise future stuff is better :P

Harry had to admit some curiosity about Barty Crouch Jr. He had obviously interacted with the man a fair amount the previous year but that had all be shrouded by the man’s assumed identity as retired auror Alastor Moody. Harry didn’t know much about the man himself besides that his father Bartemus Crouch Sr. was a grade A prat, that Barty was thrown in jail by his own father after being outed as a death eater by Igor Karkaroff, and that he supposedly had something to do with the torture of Neville Longbottom’s parents. 

This latter detail made up the bulk of his wariness towards the man. It was obvious to Harry from the little bit of his childhood that Neville had felt necessary to share with the dorm that Neville’s upbringing was only superficially better than Harry’s had been. Without loving parents to safeguard him from the mistreatment of relatives Neville had seemingly been subjected to his own brand of emotional abuse. Believed to be a squib Neville had survived multiple attempts on his life by his uncle who had couched the attempted murder as an attempt to spook the magic out of him. 

The irony that Neville was abused for his failure to exhibit accidental magic while Harry was abused for his abundance of accidental magic was not lost on him. Neville’s primary caregiver was an overbearing grandma who was apparently at least indifferent to Neville’s well being, if her failure to prevent Uncle Algie’s murder attempts were any indication. 

Harry wondered how Neville would have turned out his he could have been raised by his parents. Would he be confident? Would he get good grades. Certainly at the very least he would have his own wands since his father would still need his. None of these ruminations put Harry in a mind to view Barty with favor, but in a show of uncharacteristic maturity Harry decided he would withhold judgment until he had at least met the man. For all Harry knew the man could be completely innocent of any involvement in the torture and incapacitation of the Longbottom’s. Sirius was innocent and it hadn’t stopped the Ministry from chucking him in Azkaban and throwing away the key. 

When Harry entered the library the man was already there waiting for him. He looked about five feet ten inches and had windswept dirty blond hair and dull greyish blue eyes. The man looked neither friendly nor hostile. Rather he looked at Harry with a mix of intrigue and intensity like Harry was something very interesting that he was trying to make out. Harry refused to squirm under the scrutiny. Days of Voldemort’s burning glances had somewhat immunized him. 

Laid out in front of Barty were four folders. As Harry approached the table he could make out Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Duelling, and History of Magic hand written on each folder respectively. 

“Your syllabi.” Barty explained succinctly. 

“What are we going to work on today?” Harry decided that he would rather jump into the tutoring than dwell on the man’s dubious past. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay civil if the man openly admitted that he had tortured Neville’s parents. Barty quirked a brow at this as though he had been expecting a bit more of a fight.

“What no questions about my past? No demands for me to explain my association with the Dark lord and defend my reasons for supporting him? My, I’m almost disappointed. Yaxley told me how aggressively you had assaulted his character for being a healer in the employ of the Dark Lord. I had braced myself for a full inquisition.”

“Would you have answered my accusations if I had asked?”

“No, my reasons for joining the Dark Lord are my own, and while Yaxley may feel comfortable sharing his tragic past with complete strangers I have no such compulsion. I don’t need to justify my choices to you. I am here because the Dark Lord Has ordered me to be here. He wishes you to be tutored. So you shall be. If you prove worthy of my respect perhaps someday I will share my personal history with you, but that day is not today and frankly is unlikely to be any day soon. No, today we are going to go over my plans for the four subjects I will be teaching you and maybe if there is time after that I may test you on the subjects to take a baseline of what you already know. I understand you have zero experience with Arithmancy or Ancient Runes.” He made a tutting noise with his tongue and Harry nodded his head. 

“That’s unfortunate and will be quite a set back. We will get you on track with your peers, but it will likely take a whole year just to get caught up and we won’t have time for any fun side projects. Arithmancy and Ancient Runes are important in spellcrafting and rituals and some mastery on your part will be necessary if you have any hope of achieving my or the Dark Lord’s projected goals for you. I hope you are prepared to put your nose to the grindstone. I managed to achieve twelve O.W.L.s and that was without the benefit of extensive private tutoring. You’ll find my standards are quite high, and unlike the Moody persona I put on last year I will not tolerate laziness or underachieving. Now let’s begin!.”

Several hours later Harry stumbled into his bedroom with a mild headache and an awareness that his peaceful lazy existence at Haven House was a thing of the past. He could only hope that Yaxley would be  a more indulgent tutor otherwise he couldn’t imagine how he was to find time for much except eating, sleeping, and studying. Perhaps that was the intent. 

If Harry was expecting to find the same friendly but formal Yaxley that he had spoken to before upon his entrance to the basement potions lab he was quickly disabused of the mistaken notion. Yaxley was barely suppressing his ire and was doing a very poor job of concealing it. Harry immediately detected upon entering the room that Yaxley was very displeased with him, though he couldn’t for the life of him imagine why. 

Harry had only interacted with the man a few times, when he had first awoken from the third task kidnapping fiasco, when Yaxley had given him the antidote for the draught of living death and when Yaxley had given him the first of his weekly eye correction potions. As their last meeting had ended perfectly amicably, with Harry accepting the eye correction treatment with minimal fuss Harry couldn’t understand the man’s sudden shift in demeanor.

“Er.. hi.” Harry greeted. Yaxley shot him an unimpressed look and replied.

“Take a seat. Today we will start with Potions as I understand that is your worst subject. In front of you is a written test with one hundred questions which I will use to determine the gaps in your understanding. Begin.”

Harry was startled at the abruptness of his dismissal, but not wishing to anger the man further he picked up the provide quill and got to work. The questions were ordered by year starting with things that Harry had learned in first year up through things that Harry had learned last year. Many of the questions touched on things that Harry couldn’t remember Snape ever having discussed in class like preparation techniques. Harry answered as best he could but he suspected that vague answers like ‘cut it with a knife’ were unlikely to be the optimal response.  

When Harry finished he slid the test forward and waited for further instruction. He watched with trepidation as Yaxley read through his results. He really wanted this tutoring to work out. Seeing the effects of the nutrition potions and now the eye correction potion had given him an appreciation for healing and potions that his animosity toward Snape had previously prevented him from feeling. Harry had been so hopeful that Yaxley would be a better teacher than Snape. His earlier interactions with the man had made him optimistic. Now he was wondering if he was just doomed to have surly potions tutoring. Was it a requirement?

“I see my concerns were well placed. I have had the misfortune at times in the past of having to share a lab space with Severus Snape. The man is extremely condescending and rude and I’m not in the least surprised to learn that he is a terrible teacher. Unless you are completely incompetent, which I hope for your sake is not the case, than I would wager from reading your answers that Snape spent little if any class time teaching students the proper preparation of ingredients, how to correctly slice, chop, dice, mince, and pulverize etc. Such things can be learned from supplemental readings, but it is wrong for him to assume that all of his students will go out of their way to find such supplemental readings and being that correct ingredient preparation is only third in importance after having correct ingredients and following correct brewing instructions he really ought to have dedicated class time to its instruction. But his failings as a teacher are neither here nor there. You are my student now, for the moment at least, and together we shall strive to overcome the past deficiency of your education.”

Yaxley spent the next hour going through the basic cutting techniques, explaining why different knives would be used with different ingredients, and explaining how different cuts of the same ingredient can affect the magical potency or effect of a potion. Harry thought it was the best potion lesson he had ever had, though he was still cognizant of Yaxley’s coolness toward himself. Was Yaxley annoyed that he was being ordered to waste his time teaching a fifteen year old? Wanting to clear the air before they met again Harry decided to ask. 

“Thank you for today. You really… you made it all make sense in a way that it never had before. I’m sorry you have to waste your time on me. I’m sure you have better things to do than act as a tutor.”

“I enjoy teaching.”

“Oh, I just assumed that you were put out by it. You’ve seemed…” Harry struggled for a polite way to say not friendly and finally settled on, “out of sorts today.”

“Tell me Harry, what is something that people do that really bothers you.”

Harry was a bit thrown by this seeming non-sequitur but nevertheless answered. “Um… well I hate bullies. My cousin and his friends used to torment me when I was younger, I’ve had to deal with my share of hazing at Hogwarts too.”

“Okay, pretend for a moment that you meet someone new. You are nice and friendly to that person. You treat them respectfully. You even go out of your way to make them comfortable by talking about yourself and your past, including your aversion to bullies. Then you find out the very next day that person went out and terrorized a bunch of underclassmen. How would you treat that person the next time you met him? Would you regard him with the same respect? Would you maintain the same level of friendliness?”

Harry was really getting confused at where this conversation was going, but in for a penny in for a pound. He replied, “No, I probably wouldn’t want to associate with that person anymore. I would feel angry that I had misjudged them and that I had trusted them with knowledge of my past only to learn that they were the same as the people who hurt me.”

“Can you not imagine then why I might be feeling cross with you at present, Mr. Potter. Before you answer think really really hard.”

Harry blinked in shock as he processed that what had seemed like a bizarre conversational tangent was apparently intended as an analogy. In this analogy he was apparently the bully. Harry couldn’t imagine what he had done to piss Yaxley off, after all, he’d been trapped inside of Haven House with no company besides Voldemort and Barty. Sure Yaxley had explained his support of Voldemort to Harry, but he had never seemed put out that Harry didn’t share those beliefs. Hell he hadn’t even joined Voldemort until his wife killed herself… Harry felt like an arse. 

Of course Voldemort would have told the resident healer about Harry’s suicide attempt. And given the man’s tragic history it was hardly surprising that suicide my be a touchy topic for him. Adding on top of all of that the man had been working tirelessly for the last three months to restore Harry to full health. Tragic history with his wife notwithstanding it wouldn’t be amiss for him to have been annoyed to have his hard labors so obviously unappreciated. Harry was at a loss for words. How does one apologies for a failed suicide attempt?

He coughed to clear his throat. “I’m guessing Voldemort has been to speak to you about what happened in the woods.” Yaxley raised an eyebrow at this highly euphemistic description but did not otherwise interrupt. “I know it must seem incredibly ungrateful, especially after you’ve expended so much effort to make me well again. And I know that you must feel annoyed with me both for my actions and for my insensitivity. I do regret it. I… it wasn’t planned. I learned something...upsetting, which for your sake I won’t share with you. Merlin knows how Voldemort would react to anyone else learning the truth. He killed Wormtail just for witnessing his epiphany, no you’ll just have to trust me when I say that it was an earth shattering revelation and that it made me react irrationally. I don’t plan to do that again. I don’t actually want to die and Voldemort has expounded on to me how futile my death would be even in the unlikely event that I was ever successful in such a pursuit. Which is neigh on impossible now that he has his snake paintings watching me every second of the day. I know that none of this changes what I did and that my loss of your respect is probably irretrievable, but I just wanted you to know that I do appreciate the effort you put into making me healthy and the time you’re putting into teaching me and I will not disrespect those gifts again.”

Yaxley sent him a long hard appraising look and replied.

“Let us hope not. I’ll see you in two days.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged at the obvious dismissal. Of the three people at Haven House Yaxley had been the one whom he had most respected and whom he had felt had the best chance of maybe becoming an ally. He really hoped that he hadn’t burned bridges with the only decent person he was going to be allowed interaction with for the foreseeable future. Only time would tell. 

**Author's Note:**

> Each of the chapters of this story will be in the limited third person prospective of one of the characters (usually Harry or Tom).
> 
> I anticipate there being around 45 chapters total.
> 
> Anyone regularly reading this authors note will have noticed that the anticipated chapters ticker has creeped up from an original 21 chapters to now 45 proving that I am crap at both estimating the amount of chapters in a fic and at writing short ficlets. Who knows how long this fic is actually going to end up being. I'm already contemplating a sequel (no promises), but this fic is likely to get out of hand (as is my custom). Enjoy.


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